


Stumbling Drunk

by Loreen_Di



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Alcohol/Drinking, Alternate Timelines, Blood, Bloodmagic, Brief or implied: Abuse, Canon Divergence, Canon Hawke deaths, Descriptions of game like violence, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, Torture, and past slavery, game replay, time travel sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 90,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3638877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loreen_Di/pseuds/Loreen_Di
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It was like time had folded on itself and dropped her back off in the middle to relive things she had already done. She can change things. Do it better. The one fault in her retry. Oh there are many faults don't get her started. She is for all intent and purpose: No longer "Hawke". Maker only knows how much this all hurts her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aka: Marian is thrown into an alternate timeline and, while hiding who she really is, struggles between searching for a way back, and making a difference here as only she could. Garrett attempts to put the puzzle of “Marian Hawke” together, you know, if she'll ever tell him anything...<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall Back

**Author's Note:**

> **Stumbling drunk is in the process of being edited. As of 18/01/2018: 1/25 posted chapters have been updated.**
> 
> Warnings are provided before chapters with heavier content. Tags will be updated with more warnings as needed. Please check back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke makes a choice.

  
Stumbling Drunk Playlist  


* * *

 

A sword was plunged in her gut, the blood on her lips iron and hot. Her world was a wash of red, crackling and blotted like spilled ink on parchment. The colour seeped into the stone and sky and steel that made The Gallows. The home of the Kirkwall circle all the more foreboding for it.   
  
_At least it’s my favorite colour._ The glib comment she wanted died, strangled by the taste of blood in her mouth.  
  
The hilt of the sword she recognised as her fingers brushed over it, having to reach over the hands of the woman who held the blade. _The Idol. The Idol. The Idol. Bartrand's stupid Idol._ _Meredith could have done a better job to hide the obvious similarities,_ Marian thought. The pommel, it was _right there_ all this time unchanged from its former, _well,_ form. That ugly little skull.  
  
Why hadn't she noticed sooner? _I could have stopped this sooner._ The Knight commander had been walking around with the blighted thing for months.

  


Her vision went black, and red, and black.

  
_“What could you have done?”_

  


"I could have changed things." _Really, why are you asking?_

  


_Was Meredith laughing? S_ he could hear it, like bells _._ Her eyes opened to the red courtyard and Meredith's triumphant smile. The blade came free,  glossy red and dripping. Marian fell back with the other woman's armoured boot against her chest. Pain blossoming in her insides like fire. Her life leaking out in rivers of crimson. Even so her Daggers were clutched rigidly in her hands as she staggered back.   
  
Meredith's eyes were cold and harsh, a dull crackling of red. Hawke smiled, harsh and crooked with a mouth full of red teeth to show how little this affected her. Not at all, _not at all._

  


_Anders would have a field day with this injury-_

  


Oh _Anders._

  


Then the sword and Meredith were gone. Hawke’s vision faltered, darkness circling into her peripherals. _I'm passing out,_ it was a slow realisation, _I shouldn't, I can’t._ _I need to stay here._ But her feet staggered despite her protests and she fell.  
  
She met a shoulder instead of the ground. A hundred hours of sparring and fighting back to back told her who it was without having to see him. A strong shoulder and strong arms, the spikes of his hide armour rough and reassuring. The heave and fall of his breath against her back. Fenris had caught her.   
  
_Good. Thank you Fenris._

  


"Maker this hurts," she said instead. “I shouldn't have sent Anders away.” _I should have made him stay. Why does everyone leave decisions to me. How were we supposed to get through this without a healer._ The words went on and on but if they were said or unsaid she didn’t know.

  


"Shut up Hawke," not his usual battle calm. _Don't worry Fenris. Remember the Arishok? Remember? This is nearly identical. ha._

  


She tried to say the words, say anything at all, she really did. But blood racked out of her mouth with a painful cough. Spattering bood down her chin and leathers. Her breathing hampered by blood and unseen damage she couldn't begin to fathom.

  


"Please, Hawke." He was dragging her. Her head lolled back to his shoulder. She could just see his eyes, green and determined, but edged in panic. She could see it in the little twitches at the corners of his too wide eyes, his lips cut in a fine pale line, his breathing too ragged to just be exertion.

  


"Fenris." It was little, gurgled, too small for her voice. Her breath caught, if you could call it breathing at that point, but her hand met his face. Leaving a streak of red. _Sorry Fenris._ His eyes were glossy and green and wide, a note of colour discordant to all the rest, red on red on red but his eyes were soft green, almost hazel. _Don't Fenris. Please don't._ _  
_ _  
_ Her world was reduced to Fenris eyes as her boots scraped on the stone. Her body made of burlap and lead and pain as he took her from the battle. The clang of metal on metal ringing all around them shouts and cries and the crackle of Merrills magic.

  


Red sparked from somewhere in her peripheral, brighter than all the rest, crackling and violent. She felt the shockwave and stumbled, as well as a person being dragged can stumble. They went down together, knocked off their feet. The pain was all encompassing then, a wash of fire boiling her alive, and everything else was gone. As though the world split open and swallowed her whole. Churning her to dust between the stones, leaving nothingness and pain.   
  
Images swam before her, vague and shapeless. _What was it they always said about your life flashing before your eyes before you die_ . She never expected it to be so blurry and jumbled. She never expected it at all really, _I never meant to die._

  
She could hear, faintly, somewhere outside of the pit she was falling into so so slowly a curse in Tevene, a Fenris curse. It was somewhere far, far, away from where she was all alone in the dark with her life swimming around her.   
  
_"Promise me you won't die? I can't bear the thought of living without you."_ the words rang in her head over and over.

  


He had been right there at her side. Now it was like there were miles and maybe a wall made of cotton between his voice and her ears. She had fallen so far swallowed by the earth, by the sea, by flames. It felt eerily familiar, like the elvhen magic of keeper Marethari, like slipping into the fade to dream dreams that were real.

  


She could almost taste his lips on her own. But it felt like so long ago. Hungry and desperate, and afraid and determined. She wanted that mouth. She wanted those eyes forever and ever. _I love him._ She realised, but she had never said it. _Damn why did I never say it._

_Ah, I'd promised hadn't I._

  


_“Don't die.”_ he said. Don’t die. Like the words would make it impossible.

  


_Fenris, I won't die!_ _  
_ _  
_ _Fenris._ _  
_ _  
_ She felt the pressure of fingers wrapped around her own and she opened her eyes to the dimly lit room. Fear knotting her stomach like a tightly coiled spring.

  


Her father's hand, rough and calloused held hers. A thin and frail thing where it once was strong and steady.

  


"Protect them." his voice a hush, a command. Love and desperation colouring his features with grief.

  
_You can still protect them,_ she wanted to say. _We just have to fight this out._   


"Of course father, I promise. What else would I do?" She said it with a smile. Half hearted but genuine.  He looked so relieved, his smile stretching across his pained features. Amber brown eyes crinkling at the corners as they always did. Her eye’s.

  


Her mother sat on the other side of the small cott, the candles on the bedside table burning brightly in the dark of the room. His other hand was in hers. _Mother,_ a wreck, with her bloodshot eyes swollen from tears and haggard purple bags beneath them.   
  
She felt a smile form on her lips more genuine than the first. It was so good to see her Mother; her hair just starting to go grey, her blue eyes cast down at the hand in her husband's. The pair of them sat together by father's bedside in the house all the way in Lothering where Father lay dying.   
  
Hawke reached out to grasp her mothers other hand—

  


"Do you want to live?" Hawke’s father’s eyes were on her, the light of the hearth turning them to gold.

  


"What?"

  


There was laughter somewhere.   
  
_Everything should hurt shouldn't it? Right?_ _Where's Fenris?_

  


Their faces swam.   
  
_I was dying?_  
  
Bethany with her mother's heart shaped face laughing as they ran through a farmer's field, stolen apples tucked down the front of their dresses.   
  
Hawke followed behind her on the long road home. Watching the sway of her sisters dirt and dust stained robes after weeks spent in these dark tunnels. Her sister stumbled. Falling to a knee.  
  
“I’m not feeling very well.”  
  
“Bethany?”   
  
She rushed to her sisters side, going to one knee to catch Bethany's shoulders. Veins of black leached across her once warm golden skin. All the colour was leached from her lips and cheeks leaving her sorel and grey.  
  
_No._ _  
__  
_ “Sister? It’s the blight isn’t it?”  
  
_It couldn’t be like the battle ostagar, like lothering, it couldn't be like carver, like Avelines Wesley. It couldn’t. It couldn’t. She couldn't, she can’t, not Bethany. Not her too._  
  
_“Bethany.”_  
  
“I can feel it. I’m going to end up like Wesley aren't I?”   
  
_No._  
  
_“I don't want to die alone.” and_ “ _Thank you sister.”_ bethany said with one quirk of a smile.  
  
She felt her knife slipping between her sisters ribs to find her heart even before she had thought to draw the blade. Here Varric call her sister _Sunshine_.  
  
Sunshine dying in the dark.  
  
_No! No no no no._ _  
__  
_ She wanted ferelden fields and gardens of wildflowers and squash vines. Not this. She rose to her feet and looked to the figure next to her _. Mother,_ smiling at Her Father in the families little kitchen above the bookshop in denerim. The babies sat at the counter, so alike in in their looks, so much like mother.   
  
Her Mother. Strong and regal, as beautiful in roughspun farm dresses as she was in silk.  
  
Her Mother laughed about courting again. As they leaned against the writing desk in the family wing, her nails tapping and a bright smile on her face.   
  
“I see the way your Fenris looks at you. What are your plans there dear?” her words sweet a prying all at once.  
  
A vice wrapped around her heart.   
  
_Fenris?_   
  
_Mother._ _  
__  
_ She could hear her in the other room, weeping on dirty floorboards in Gamlen's hovel, while she and Bethany counted coin and traded tales trying to forget the hell they lived through, trying to live on.  
  
Carver. Sweet insufferable Carver, blue eyes and a pain in the ass, laughing as they played at swords the non-mage children of Malcolm Hawke.  
  
_You were supposed to protect him._  
  
Carver charging in to kill the ogre the corpses of darkspawn at their feet and mothers scream. her daggers dripped black blood onto the blighted earth. Carver looked up from where he was crumpled his eyes boring into hers, accusing.

  


"Do you wish I'd lived?" his voice was small and far away. So unlike him. So sad. Like he was little again and Hawke was his big sister who picked him up when he scraped his knees.

  


"Of course."

  


"Do you wish you could have been different?" Carver's voice in the mouth of a little boy. A boy she still recognised as Carver, knees scraped up, eyes puffy. While Mother fussed at the kitchen counter.

  


"Yes. I could have done so much better." _If I'd trained harder before Ostagar. If I had charged the ogre, danced out of its way, been better than I was. I fucked up everything._ _  
_ _  
_ _Well, everything but one thing or two. It that was enough to keep the rest at bay. I had them, I did that right, the family I earned._

  


"You would change things If you went back?"

  


"Maker yes."   
  
Carver laughed, the sound echoed all around. Their mother stepped between them with a swath of bandage in her hands, tutting.   
  
“You to need to be more careful.”   
  
“It was an accident Mother.” Hawke supplied.   
  
“There are no such thing as accidents, only mistakes.”

  


_Our mistakes make us who we are._ She looked around for the source of the voice in the little house. Bethany sat in a chair by the little table. Mother was bandaging Carvers knee. She heard the door swing on its rusty hinges.

  


"Are you ready to go Little Hawk?"   
  
She looked up and there was Father, towering in the doorway, pack in hand. Amber eyes and beard surrounding a bright smile. A fire crackled in the Hearth, Bethany hummed as she read from her spellbook, Mother tutted at Carvers carelessness.   
  
She was home. She was safe. She could stay here, but father alway knew best. If they were going to go somewhere, they had to go and wherever they went that would be home too so long as they were together.

  


"Yes. Yes I’m ready." The room sparked red before it twisted with green. Laughter peeled off the walls. Her Father's face cracked. Bethany screamed as her body was smashed against the ground like a ragdoll. No gentle goodbyes or bloodied dagger.   
  
The world swam. Images. Faces. Darkness. Laughter, sweet as it was cloying. Everything tilted jarringly. Hawke lost her footing on the floorboards, the ground opening up like a vast maw full of red teeth. _Blood,_ she thought. _Like blood._ A wound in the ground, the ground that was no longer there.   
  
She was falling—   

  


Falling.  


* * *

The ground was cold. She didn’t feel the landing but she braced herself for pain she knew would come. She had fallen from trees and horses and buildings before, she knew even if nothing was broken she would find herself awfully-awfully bruised. At least winded. She held her eyes tight shut and just breathed soft and slow.  
  
Hawke felt the stones dirty and rough beneath her hands, cold against her back, where they could have been warmed from the sun, so there was no sun here at least, wherever she was.  
_And where am I?_  
  
Everything smelled like smoke and filth, sewer and salt and city. The smells of Lowtown. Her growing awareness brought her attention to the dampness of her pant leg, soaked in some gutter puddle. _I_ _hope it’s just a puddle._ Blindly she ran a hand down her abdomen with the panicked expectation of wetness, but found leather and mail and cloth. She opened her eyes for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She blinked rapidly at the harsh light.  
  
The sky was smokey and dull, sunlight drifting through the smog and clouds above. She was lain in shadow, an alleyway on some off beaten lowtown road, she knew it vaguely.   
  
When she looked down there was no wound. _A wound?_ She fumbled at the clean cut edges of the hole cut through fabric leather and mail. One on the many straps cut nearly in two. It would need fixed but there was no blood, no wound.  
  
_No wound?_ Hawkes thoughts marched through a fog, slow and sluggish. She blinked hoping to jog her memory. Looking up the high rising walls above. Was she up there before she fell? _Why?_

  


A few people bumbled past the opening of the alleyway talking loudly— _morning drunk._ They looked at her with queer expressions and one stifled laughter into her sleeve. Hawke didn't dine to return their looks.   
  
_Yes, your champion is taking a nap in the dirt and mud, maker I hope it's dirt and mud._

  


She pushed herself up on her elbows sliding her back up the wall of building till she was sitting. She ran a hand through her muddy hair. One of her daggers was gripped rigidly in her other hand, the twin dropped by her side. Hawke felt along her hip till she met her enchanted bag, finding it undisturbed, she sighed with relief.   
  
Passed out in a gutter in low town that was surprising. Passed out in low town you were just as likely to be gutted as you were to be robbed blind. _And I managed neither._  Hawke only found herself with a muddy leg and a hole through every layer of her armour.

  


_Who would cut a hole my armour?_

  


It felt like somebody had rattled rattled her skull around for a good few hours. Or she had been really, really, drunk and was now mildly, just mildly mind, hungover. Racking her brain she tried to recall what lead to this moment. Marian Hawke, the champion of Kirkwall passed out in a gutter in lowtown. She stared vacantly at the wall opposite, the cracking mortar over the stone.

  


_Oh, yes. Orsinos letter._ _  
_ _  
_ She grabbed the small leather-bound notebook from the front of her bag, “ _nothing worse than an absent mind.”_ Her father used to say as he wrote his endless lists in a book just like this one. She had had it since she was sixteen, kept the habit since she was sixteen. She flipped through the worn pages with their dog-eared corners, noting that the small fountain pen she kept slotted over the cover was missing. Her deeds, successes and failures reduced to bullet point lines on old parchment. She stopped on the most recent page flecked with blotchy ink and russet stains.

  


_“Letter from Orsino. Visit gallows,”_ was crossed out as if already done. And under that just one word: _Chantry_ — So rough it was obviously an afterthought, a quick addendum in a  moment of calm. _We—_ _  
__  
__We were headed to stop a confrontation between Meredith and Orsino at the chantry._ That was it. _I am this cities babysitter, champion, after all._ Hawke, at least, remembered that.

_  
__All right stupor sulking done. Get up. Up. Out of this filthy alley._   
  
She slung her daggers back in there sheaths and stood up, her legs surprisingly steady beneath her and set out.    


Hightown wass the best option; To the chantry. She could figure it out from there. Pick up the little bread crumbs she left herself. I was Varric, Fenris, and Aveline that were with her. _Fuzzy memories, voices I can't process, infuriating._ If the Chantry was a bust she could find one of them at least, she hoped she could. Unless something had happened to them too. _They’re alright,_ she told herself. _They have to be._ _  
_ _  
_ Hawke picked up her pace and wove through the streets to the dusty market on the way to the huge staircase up to Hightown. She took two steps at a time. People Gawked. She recognised a few of them, just faces in a crowd she was used to seeing. I _know this armour isn't the most suited to stealth, really, but I've been wearing the whole set for at least two weeks now._ Most people had to be used to seeing her rushing about in glaring red and black by now.   
  
She pulled up the hood anyway, strangely out of place with the attention.

  


The high town market was as busy as usual. A rush of voices, scents, and faces milling from stall to stall. Canvas awnings of every colour lined the square, patorons milling about in silk and samite. She danced past them all, ready to bolt up the stairs and run for the chantry.   
  
Something about all of this felt pressing. Important. She couldn't place where the urge came from. Her feet pounded on the stone as she quickend her pace. Running.

  
In a way, it felt like an ending. Like fleeing Lothering with nothing but the shirts on their backs. _The world reached its boiling point and I wake up passed out in an alley with no explanations instead of—_

  


"Who brought the old woman!"

  


She skidded to a halt at the voice— multiple voices. They were unnervingly recognisable and  came out from the dwarven sector as she rushed past. _Bartrand?_ And— A woman's pleading with two deeper baritones', both recognisable, one more so than the other. Her breath caught. _No. That's impossible. Both are impossible._ Her poster stiffened, frozen in place as she listened. Her heart speeding.   
  
Shaking she stepped back. her feet carrying her into the entrance of the square.   
  
_This isn't possible._

  


Bartrand and the rest of his expedition crew stood talking in undertones, moving supplies onto wagons. Apart from them Hawkes companions, and not so far away from the rest, three people caught in deep discussion.   
  
Two that she would recognise anywhere. _Mother, Carver…_  It had been so long since she'd seen their faces, heard them speak outside of dreams. The pair were arguing with a taller, if less muscular, man. He was bearded and in faintly familiar robes.

  


_I can't bring myself to move._ It was as though the picture would shatter is she so much as took another breath. Their voices carried across the square. _Alive and breathing and arguing like mad._

  


_Carver died in Ferelden. Mother was murdered. This. What's going on?_

  


_This is the Deep Roads expedition. I remember this._ All the pieces were there. Even the bits of conversation she heard from where she stood. Mother insisting Bethany had to stay, _but it was Carver._

  


_Don't, don't, bring Carver. The Deep Roads are not safe for little Hawkes._

  


_Was this the fade? It._ It didn't feel like the fade. She starred up. _Kirkwall sky. No murk or twinge or taint to indicate and offness._ The only thing off was the when, the where, the who. _Who was that standing where I had over six years ago?_

  


It was over before I even started to process. The Wagons rolling out, creaking and groaning under the weight of supplies. The discussions at an end.

  


They walked passed her. Her Mother with Carver in toe looking sullen. She couldn't move, just watched as they walked by and away down the steps into the market. Without so much as a glance her way.   
  
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes tasting iron in the back of her mouth in the effort to not let them fall. She wanted to run after them, She wanted to know what was going on here, but was rooted in place.   
  
He gut twinged painfully, and her hand fell to the hole in the raiment, and poked at her stomach beneath. She was only met with a flat wall of muscle pushing back.

  


The rest of the scene played out, just as she remembered it. Fenris, Merrill, Varric and that man with the beard walking past Hawke. Setting out for the Deep Roads. A month and two weeks in hell. Where they found the idol, where Varric's brother betrayed them all. Where Bethany...

  


She lurched out, no grace, no stealth, and grabbed the bearded man's arm.

  


"A moment Serah?" the words flooded out.   
  
Then she saw his face and her breath caught, her eyes went wide. _This man. He-_

  


From the shape of his eyes, his jaw line, to the shape and texture of his black beard. The bright blue eyes and golden complexion were wrong, but otherwise he was the spitting image of Malcolm Hawke. _  
__  
__This man has my father's face._ _They could be brothers, twins._

  


_Who are you?_ She couldn’t say, _None of this is real. Not yet. Not for me. I went to the deep roads over six years ago. My sister died there. Carver was already dead. Mother was murdered. Father died years before we ran from Ferelden. I'm going to stop the first enchanter and the night commander from starting another war in this city._

  


He didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just stopped short a congenial smile on his lips, he waited.  
  
Hawke couldn't look at anyone else save a glance at Fenris. Fenris who looked at me like he was preparing to jump in and gore her on his blade while likewise staring daggers at this man's back.

  


The smile on his bearded face wavered, briefly, before returning. Though slightly less exuberant and more polite, but no less real. Hawkes hand was a vice on his arm, white knuckled.

  


_I-_

  


_I am armoured and armed to the teeth. I am the perceived threat here._   
  
A glance at her—   _his_ , she realised, stalled companions really drove it in. All of them with varying degrees of either curiosity,  worry, or impatience but all had hands not far from weapons.

  


_He looks so much like Father._ Her father was, darker skinned, brown where this man was gold, his hair had been grey where this mans was black, his face aged when she last saw him where this man was young. _He's like a younger paler reflection._

  


"Hawke you need a hand there? We don't have time for staring contests with strangers." Varric's smooth voice, her name, directed at this stranger with her Father’s face.

  


She filled her lungs, violently, _had I stopped breathing?_  Her hand dropped from his arm.

  


"Sorry," her voice was hoarse and quiet and barely audible even to herself.   
  
Concern pressed the man's features and he rubbed at his wrist.

  


"Are you alright?" he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked over at the dwarf. As if to say without words that he would only be a moment.

His voice was her Father's, _Nearly,_ just younger with different inflections. She was sure If they spoke in the same room and you didn't know them well you could not have discerned the speaker.   


"Be quick Hawke. Don't want to keep the darkspawn waiting."  
  
_There was my name again._   
  
The rest of the expedition group carried on ahead. All but Fenris who lingered like a shadow in dark leather.  Only the distinct red flare missing from the oh so familiar elf. He glared like he didn’t  know her from a hole in the wall. Or a very annoying bug. _Annoying bug definitely. Yes just joke about how much that hurts._

  


Hawke drew her attention back to the stranger. Her movements slow and disjointed, she was finding it hard to breathe. Her reaction time slowed, her tongue made of lead. The man stared on. _Awkward on awkward._

  


"Sorry, you look like someone," her voice was clear this time, and she at least told the truth. _He does look like someone. This all looks awfully familiar with a few details out of place. One being you. Mystery bearded man with my father's face._   
  
The part of her brain usually screaming for me to think first was gone with the confusion.

  


"Who? I like to think I have a very distinct look." he said with disarming charm.

  


Hawke shook her head, "you look like my father. I'm sorry, you just look like him."   
  
That seemed to disarm him. A small downturn of his lips.   
  
_This is maddening. All of this is maddening._ She felt the strangest urge to run. To pinch herself, knowing this could only be a dream.

  


"Oh," his voice was a breath. He was puzzling over her, squinting a little bit as if to see her better.   
  
She flipped her hand up to knock off her hood. Releasing her shoc of short dark hair.     
  
_Stare away, tall and beardy, stare away._ _  
_ _  
_ He worried his lip, let out a breath. Little mannerisms that felt familiar to her.   
  
"If you don't mind me asking. What is your Father's name?"

  


"Malcolm," slipped out of her lips, automatic, spoken with ingrained pride.   
  
She watched him, his blue eyes, those were her Mothers eyes. Bethany had her mother's looks and her eyes, Carver a little bit of both, but those same blue eyes. Marian Hawke wound up with some combination of features from grandparents she never knew, but she had her father's eyes: Amber brown, golden in the right light.   
  
The Man had gone still. stopped breathing. I _t's the best thing to do right? Drive the nail home. Finish this blow._ She had certainly had enough for today, _I deserve to dish a few out._   
  
"Malcolm Hawke." The name delivered like the stroke of a blade.

  


"Malcolm Hawke," the name seemed to force its way over his lips, tense, like she just accused him of killing kittens, "you're sure?"

  


"Yes."   
  
She could almost ignore the pinch of guilt knotting her insides. The one telling her to say _no._ To undo the damage before it began. _He looks like my father but he has my mother’s colouring and her eyes. Like he could be my brother._

  


He shook his head, mess of hair ruffling. Dark and fluffy. If she reached up and touched it, it would be the same texture as her own, she would bet her life on it.

  


"That's just— not possible,"  he took a step away, "who are you?"

  


_What did I admit to here._ _I'm Marian Hawke and you are in the place I was six years ago. I don't know what's going on or who you are but I have a sinking suspicion that I don't like this at all._

  


_I'm you._

  


_No not that at all. That's not the conclusion you would jump too. Nor the one that you would want someone to jump to. Not that this conclusion is much better. No I just accused my father of having other children._ _Of fathering a bastard. Of breaking vows he made to my mother._

  


_Or that he had had other children. Before her._ _  
_ _  
_ That made more sense. Her father had been older. He was an apostate, always on the run.

  


_Was it any better if he abandoned a mother and his child. A child who knew him long enough to remember his face. Was that better or worse than marital indiscretion?_ _  
_ _  
_ As her mind worked she noticed Anders and Isabela lingering, watching the exchange of unplesantries. They hadn't just up and ventured back to their own corners of the world just yet.   
  
Isabella looked like she's just found the scandal of the year and Anders, Anders looked like Anders, overworked and mildly concerned. But Hawke could see the tension in their shoulders. As tense as the bearded man and Fenris lingering by his shoulder.   
  
_I've been standing here for a long time just staring and not saying anything._

  


_I am outnumbered. If this comes to fight—  It won't, I will be very cooperative._

  


"You first." _As ever my mouth makes me a liar._

  


Moving on instinct she rose onto the balls of her feet with her hands at her sides ready to fly to her dagger, _not the dagger, no_ , the smoke bombs at her belt at any moment.   
  
She felt terribly hungover and lost beyond measure.

  


And if it came to a fight she would have been up against a possessed mage, A skilled rogue, a frighteningly powerful greatsword wielding elf, and tall-beardy-looks-like-my-father. _  
_ _  
_ _If he were me he\s be a rogue. That's the answer. He is me._   
  
Like a single grain of clarity in a world made of darkness she was sure that he was her, however this backwards situation went, that was a truth. Even so _the spear_ on his back really said otherwise. _Maker damn it._ There is no way she could incapacitate all of them and escape.

  


_What is this? What blighted hole have I fallen into?_

  


_He's boring holes into me._ Here she was interrupting the beginning of his exciting adventure. Then going on to disparage their fathers name. _Ah ha ha Marian. What will you think of next._

  


"Garrett Hawke, or Hawke." He shrugged, "Most people just call me Hawke."

  


She nodded slowly chewing over the words.   
  
_He’s Hawke. So who am I? How did I get here?_   
  
Pain jutted through her from her abdomen. Her hand fell there, to that clean cut through all her layers.

  


"Marian," _Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, but just Hawke will do._ Her lips were warm and slick. _Blood?_ She dabbed at her lip with her fingers, coming away red. _Oh._

  


No one  had moved. _No one stabbed me,_ but she had been stabbed. Clearly.   
  
Red life flooding over her fingers from the slit in her armour. She fell forward, her knees gone out from underneath her.

  


"Anders!"  His arms were solid under her own, holding her up, her face pressed into his shoulder. _He even smells like father_ , came to her manically. _His hands are warm._ _Magic warm._ They smoothed down her back and pressed to the wound that went right through her just under the last rib. "Anders you're better at this! Please."

  


"I can't help her _here._ Come on, the clinics closer." _No don't use magic out in the open Anders._ "We need to get her to the clinic."

  


Hawke was lifted off her feet like a doll, limp and useless; tucked against Garrett Hawke's chest.

  


"Right," she could feel the word in his chest as he spoke.

  


"Careful with her. We don't know how bad this is."

  


_Don't pass out._ Magic was stitching through her. A feeling as familiar as her father's smile, her mother's arms around her. From skinned knees to the time when she broke her arm jumping from the oak behind their house outside Redcliff. _It feels like father._ It felt like coming home.

  


"It’s pretty bad. I don't think I could make it much worse if I tried."

  


"Hawke," _gravely, enrapturing, Fenris._ _There you are, Fenris._

  


"You can go on ahead. Tell Varric to wait. That I got caught up. An emergency, something."

  


Fenris nodded, she only saw it in her perifferal, her eyes nearly closed. His mop of white hair moving up and down. _Don't go Fenris_ . But he was already going. _He was already gone._ Everything was blurry. Her eyes watered, but the sting of tears was nothing compared to the sharp searing hell of her open insides.

  


Garrett's steps were quick and careful but she could feel every single one. _Don't pass out_. She closed her eyes.

  


"Awfully interesting story she has."

  


"Isabella, not the time."

  


"What do you think Anders? Hawke's got a long lost sister? Come to die in his arms?"

  


_Yes Anders what do you think?_

  


"I-" Anders began.

  


"Isabella! She's not dyeing." Other Hawkes voice was a loud thrum against her ear, she felt like she could trust that. Trust him. _I'm not going to die. I promised I wouldn’t die._

  


"I'm just saying— "  
  
Hawke coughed violently killing whatever Isabela had meant to say.

  


She could still feel the light sway of magic moving through her. Gentle and soothing. _He's a mage, like father was a mage._

  


"-er a mage?" she managed, pressed into his shoulder.

  


"You haven't passed out yet. That's-" _Strange? Unfortunate? Inconvenient?_ "good."

  


"Mm."

  


"Yeah. I'm a mage." He was quiet. Nearly more felt than heard.

  


"Like Father?"

  


"Like Father. Not as good yet though." He sighed, "You probably shouldn't try to talk."

  


Her breathing was ragged, laboured.

  


"Righ-" she broke off into coughing. Liquid in her lungs.

  


"We're almost there okay. You'll be fine."

  


"There's the lift. Once we're on I can take over."

  


_Thanks Anders_.

  


_"Thanks Anders,"_ it was half a whisper.

  


There was a brief and very rushed exchange between Isabella and one of the lift operators. Marian could feel the shift and slight sway as they stepped onto the wooden platform.

  


"We should try to get her to drink an elfroot potion. It will speed things up," Anders said, very clinical. Healer through and through.

  


"Right." He was slowly lowered Hawke to the floor. Propped up against his legs. Gentle as he could. Her world reduced to the colours playing on the back of her eyelids and pain.

  


The chains screamed, loud and sudden, as the lift started to move. It was no gentle decent, it never was. She focused on the song that was the machinations of the crank and gears sending them down into the undercity.  
  
The gears slipped, a stomach flopping drop, before they caught again sending a shuddering jolt through the platform. It was enough to slam Marian Hawke into unconsciousness.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 was originally 4,097 words. It is now 5906 words.
> 
> I always really loved that first line I wrote and I kept changing it while editing this in 1st person. But I made the decision for multiple reasons to change the whole work to limited 3rd person, allowing me to keep the line more or less.
> 
> I think giving myself the leeway of 3rd person POV will improve the work overall.


	2. Defame a Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke losses one thing and gains another.

The lift dropped abruptly only to slam again as the gears managed to catch. I had the Woman half lowered to the floor still braced on one arm a propped against my legs. The Lifts lurch rocked her hard and I could feel her breath wetly leave her lungs as her features contorted in pain.  
  
A new wave of healing, more boldly now that we were out of public eye, swept up from my hands.  Letting it seep through her as I searched in vain to find all the pieces of her that were torn and stitch them back right. The warm glow of green filling the darkness of the lift shaft.  
  
"She's passed out. You'll have to forget the potion." Her heart beat was sluggish and desperate while her breathing slow and painful to hear.  
  
"Figures. I'm surprised she managed to stay with us this long." Blue light flared up as he kneeled next to me, hovering over her. I wonder if I'll ever be able to do that. Spirit healing. His hands ghost light over her abdomen.  
  
There was a hole right through her from front to back. Internal organs severed, the wound itself nearly as long as my hand. A stab wound from a very large sword If I had to guess. The kind Fenris would use.  
  
A wave of blue fire sealing the outer wound to stop most of the blood loss. Looking like it had been healing for weeks not seconds.  
  
"How do you think she managed that?"I let the question sit.  
  
"I'd like to know how she was hiding that gash for the good hour she was staring into your pretty blue eyes."  
  
Anders was focused heavily on what I could guess was stitching her insides back together.  
  
"The muscles could have been tensed? That can happen right Anders?" Anders gave a shake of his head. It's not likely.  
  
"She should be dead." He whispered then through his focus.  
  
"Well I'm glad we got to her then. It's not every day you find long lost family." Tried not to let the bit of anger I could feel in my throat slip out. Or maybe I didn't.  
  
"Do you really believe her then Hawke?"  
  
"I-" I don't want to. "I don't want to think- that." That my father wasn't exactly who I remembered. "She does have his eyes."  
  
She was so earnestly shocked by me. By my face. Like she was looking at a ghost. I can distinctly feel the hand shaped ring of bruising that's started to form where she grabbed my arm.  
  
Marian Hawke. Would she be a Hawke? How old is she? When? Was father with mother? No. Not likely. If she recognised our father it means she's seen him and was old enough to remember his face with enough clarity to see it in mine. So he had to of left. Left her. That seemed so cruel. That's not the man I remember. With kind hands and a gentle voice, family ever important.  
  
"You okay kitten? Your staring holes in the girl and I don't think she needs any new ones."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The lift shuddered to a halt as we reached the under city.  
  
"Can I move her Anders?"  
  
"Carefully. There's still a little mending needed yet."  
  
I braced my back and scooped the unconscious woman back up, gently as I could. Returning the pulse of healing to my hands. Letting the green light wash over her for just a moment before we were in the sight of the public once again. She was looking better already. Still pale, but she was no longer a blood fountain of racking breaths. I could feel her heart beating a little more steady.  
  
Our walk to Anders clinic was brisk. Not wanting to remain long in the stench of filth that was darktown. The air was marginally better once in the clinic itself.  
  
"Here. Lay her down."  
  
I set her down on the empty cot. I'd been here a few times over the past few weeks myself. With injuries that were just out of my realm of casting, and without the funds to spare for elfroot while saving up for our expedition.  
  
I can heal fairly well honestly, but I'm bad with my own injuries. Something about focusing to seal a wound or re-stitch a bone while your reeling in pain is awfully hard.  
  
Sprit magic danced on Anders arms. Blue and alive rushing and flowing over Marians still form. She was breathing fine now and her features no longer contorted in pain. It was a relief. I barely know this woman. I have no way to be sure if she's telling the truth, but if I just let her die. If I didn't get the chance to learn more. To get the full story. I would regret that, no matter what it means.  
  
"Thanks for this Andres. Once we're back. If you ever need anything for the clinic."  
  
"Make it back first."  
  
"Right." I tucked a lock of short black hair behind the woman's ear. "She really does look like him, just a little." She had his eyes, but also his completion. Warm and earthy.  
  
Isabela brushed against my shoulder, with something that was not her shoulder, leaning in to see her.  
  
 "I can see the family resemblance. You're both delectable."  
  
"She does have your look." Anders had stepped back. Eyes going back and forth between Marian on the table and myself.  
  
"My look?"  
  
"Yeah that Hawke flare." The pirate gestured with her arms imitating a burst of flames.  
  
I sighed. This was a lot. I didn't really want to think about it. This girl. My sister. My Father. I stepped away from the stranger on the table. Rolling my shoulders. Deep roads. I need to focus on that. This can come later.  
  
"She'll be alright now Anders?"  
  
"Well, She might be sore for a bit but she's whole again. I'll keep a keen eye on her just in case."  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Isabella. After she wakes up why don't you get her a drink on me." I pulled a few silvers from what remained in my pouch. Little though it was. Dropping them into Bela's eager hands. Maybe if I can charm her with Isabela she'll still be here when I get back.  
  
"Drinks on you! You hardly need to ask."  
  
"Try and keep her around. Find out more about her. If you can." As much as I don't want to think about it. I need to know. I need to know who she is and why she's here. What happened to her. If what she said is true.  
  
"I need to get going. We'll be back in a few weeks."  
  
"Best of luck Hawke."  
  
"Loot a little extra for me."  
  
I nodded to Anders and placed a hand on Isabela's shoulder. Patting lightly before tuning for the door. Then I'm on my way, one foot in front of the other. To the Deeproads. To darkspawn. To security from the templars. So my mother doesn't lose any more family.  
  
I stepped up onto the lift heading up.  
  
I knew I wasn't going to bring Carver from the start. Hate to say it, or he would hate to hear it. I couldn't leave my mother with nothing. No recurrence.  
  
Maker have mercy what would I do about mother. Did she? Did she know? Marian is a thousand questions in my head. Questions I don't need when I should be focused. I rubbed at my temples.  
"Blight take this."  
  
Deeproads. Focus on that. I'm not taking Carver.  
  
Fenris is a better swordsman. A friend. I hope. Despite his harsh words at our first meeting, I'm growing on him I think. Mage or not. He agrees to my running about and antics often enough.  
  
I can stand as the party healer in place of Anders who I wouldn't want to drag back to the Deeproads and away from the refugees who need him. Besides I can't imagine Fenris and Anders surviving each other for that long in a confined space. Not that Merrill and He are much better.  
  
 Merrill despite her... faults, is a skilled and ferocious offensive mage, where I'm, not.  
  
I have always focused on the elements and now since- Well I am learning skills that focus on party aid. I have basic healing down, I can throw shields, and I'm going to learn spirit healing. I decided that the moment I met Anders and saw what he could do. Heal. If I could do that. If I could have done it then.  
  
That makes a well balanced team. A rogue, Warrior, and one offensive and one defensive mage. Perhaps I'm putting too much on Fenris with only one short range party member, he'll draw all the heat. Merrill can step in when it comes down to it. So could I, even though I should focus on strategy and remaining at the edge o battle to asses party health, see where best to throw a burst of flame or crack of lighting.  
  
I was heads or tails really over bringing Aveline or Merrill. Aveline would have been my first choice. But I didn't want to pull her away from training to become guard captain. She deserves some stability. I pull her along enough as it is. I can spare her this risk.  
  
I sighed. The lift halted and I stepped off. Finding my way back up to high town and then down the greater staircase off the market. There may have been a straighter rout to the coast and our exit point into the roads. I was never one for directions and hoped I hadn't taken so much time that I couldn't catch up.  
  
So I was running. Peoples unchecked eyes following me, staring. It's a little bit exhilarating, distracting, all focus on movement. No room to think of a woman on a cot with my father's eyes. No room to think about him abandoning a child, his child. No I'm not thinking about that at all. Attention on landing my feet in the right places and not tripping down a flight of thousands of stairs and breaking my neck.  
  
Until I nearly barrel into Merrill. My hands flying out trying to throw my momentum back instead of forward and down the descending stairs.  
  
"Oh," the startled sound bursting from the little elf's lips. Somehow our combined efforts kept me from tumbling over her as she caught my shoulders. With a mantra of sorry so sorry following as we both got our footing.  
"Oh Hawke! It's you. That's good we were coming to get you."  
  
"I'm sorry Merrill. I just about sent us tumbling all the way to Lowtown." I chuckled patting her shoulders as she still held mine. Both catching our breath. A shock of white hair caught my attention from farther down the steps. "Both of you came to get me? Together?"  
  
"The Dwarfs brother is getting impatient. He thought it unwise for the blood mage to go alone."  
  
"Were you planning on getting lost Daisy?"  
  
"No. Why would I plan on getting lost?" She looked a bit flustered by my joke. "I've been getting much better at finding my way."  
  
"Well we shouldn't keep Bartrand waiting." I stepped around her and started down the steps.  
  
"Are you feeling alright Hawke? You look awfully pale," Merrill trilled after me. The two elves fell into step behind me a wide birth between them.  
  
Was it really showing that bad. The turmoil I was not not experiencing in my gut. Marian Hawke.  
  
"We almost fell down the largest staircase in Kirkwall." My voice wavered a little. Uncharacteristically. Is this why I'm bad at cards?  
  
"If you're sure. You look like you saw a ghost." That's apt. A ghost. I sighed clasping my hands together.  
  
"I have a sister." I stared at the steps as my feet carried me over them. Rough sandy stone on and on and on.  
  
"Bethany?" She says it softly, a little confused. Like it will sting me. She may have a very sheltered worldview but she's never intentionally cruel. Or at least I've never found her to be. So I laugh. I can feel two sets of green eyes on the back of my head.  
  
"No. Not Bethany. I found out I may have another sister,"  I hope I don't sound sad. "One I didn't know I had until today."  
  
"That's wonderful Hawke. Was it that woman with the flashy armor? The one who was watching us? Then grabbed you while we were leaving?"  
  
"Watching us?"  
  
"You didn't see? She was standing there when your Mother came for Carver. She looked sad. Or maybe a little confused."  
  
"Did you notice any signs of her injury while you were assessing her mood?" Fenris low predatory voice from just to my right.  
  
"Was she hurt? Is she alright?"  
  
"Yes, and she's fine now, Anders healed her while we carried her to the clinic." My hand ghosted down my abdomen on impulse. Feeling a sympathetic twinge of pain. Hovering over my approximation of where she had to have been gored by some blade.  
  
"It sounds like it was very exciting. Or maybe I shouldn't say that."  
  
"Did you speak with her?" Fenris asked. I looked at him in surprise. Unsure of the intent behind his words. Concern? Genuine curiosity?  
  
We turned off a landing on the stair into strait path to a gate out of the city to the coast. Tight packed houses nearly walling in the street.  
  
"Ah, not really," I breathed. "She asked if I was a mage. I told her I was."  
  
"Do you think that was entirely wise Hawke?" There's that touch of recognizable scorn I'm accustomed too.  
  
"No, but she was only," I shrugged my shoulders," Half conscious. I think."  
  
"What if this is some ploy. How do you just trust so easily?"  
  
She caught me off guard. She's rocked something out of place and I can't think about it. So I just said it. I'm a mage just like Dad.  
  
"Well if Marian is trying something," I said instead, seriously.  "She'll just have to wait for us to get back from the Deeproads." I could see our group ahead, just outside the open gates. Bartrand shouting something at Varric and the younger brother trying to placate him. Recognising the soothing lul of his voice from here.  
  
"You think she will remain in Kirkwall?"  
  
"I hope she is. I would like to meet her." The other elf chimed in.  
  
"Well I don't know why she's here in the first place. It seemed like she ran into us by chance. In any case I've set Isabella on her. If there is something nefarious going on, I think she'll sniff it out."  
  
"You mean if Isabela hasn't bedded the woman and moved on by the time we return."  
  
"Perhaps that would give _her_ all the more reason to stay. I hear Bella is quite the charmer." I won't pretend I haven't seen the pirate flirting at Fenris, and the occasional ruffled feathers and even more occasional reciprocation on his part. I mean I flirted at both of them when we first met too. I do that a little too often with my companions. Maybe.  
  
"Hawke! Did you solve your lady troubles."  
  
"She swooned right into my arms!" I put a hand on the man's shoulder. Finally reaching the expedition group. A few workers loading our supply wagons. Man drawn. It was a relatively small party. A few merchant dwarves and a handful of people Bartrand hired. Then us.  
  
"Was she taken away by your sculpted beard or was it the soulful blue eyes that shine like jewels?"  
  
Laughing  I emended my statement, "I'm sure the blood spilling out of her gut helped quite a bit."  
  
Concern flashed on Varric's face.  
  
"Okay, Hawke. This I really do have to hear." It's good to joke about things. Varric makes things so much easier. I really don't know where I would be without the guy. Almost makes you wish he wasn't in a dedicated relationship with his crossbow. Almost.  
  
"I'll tell you on the way. I'd hate to keep your darling brother waiting a moment longer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that I would only post chapters after I finished writing the next one so this has actually been ready since I posted the first chapter. (I'm actually breaking the rule right now but 3 is long enough and at a point where I could call it a chapter, but it's not where I intended 3 to end. I'm posting this anyway.) 
> 
> Unlike aD;aS all perspectives are going to be separate chapters. I may come to regret that if I ever have like just a lil snippet I want to toss in from some other pov.
> 
> Part of me wants to make it really clear in the Chap description which hawkes chapter is which, and part of me wants to make it like you gotta read a bit to find out. So if I come back and edit that to just say "Hawke" don't be surprised.
> 
> TBE as always.
> 
> P.S. that "not not" is intentional. My lack of punctuation might be wrong though. ¯\\_O_/¯


	3. Belt Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke realises what can be done, tries not to think about what can't.

There was a heavy grogginess about the world at the moment. Like I'd been dipped into slick fog.  Everything has slowed. My eyes don't want to open and my hands can't move, instead I get to watch light on the back of my eyelids and breathe in some foul smell that keeps wafting to my nose. Waste and squalor with a hint of stagnant sea air. Darktown? I'm in the under city?  
  
Someone is in this room with me. Moving about, occasionally I hear the clink of vials, and voices, talking quietly, coughing, sick people.  
  
I can feel the press of a thin hard mattress beneath me. I'm on a cot in Anders clinic in Darktown.  
  
"How do you think he's fairing Anders? Hawke I mean." Isabella's voice. He?  
  
"Well I doubt they've reached the roads yet. I'm sure he's fine."  
  
Anders?  
  
_Why would he be here?_  
  
Why wouldn't he be here?  
  
Why am I here is the better question.  
  
"Oh not the blighted deeproads. Didn't you see him. Face white as cleaned linens. Practically frowning, have you ever seen that man frown?"  
  
"Concern? From you? Isabela you actually have a heart."  
  
"I know, shocking," tilt of humour in her voice. "The way the Hawke's talk about their father. Brilliant mage. Sappy true love story. Family and honour and all that. It's like he was some hero from a legend and not a man. Men have flaws."  
  
Time to get up. Move toes. Move fingers. Start small and work my way up. The heaviness of potions and healing is still in my system. Minds up and ready to go but my body is adamantly staying under.  
  
"I'm sure Hawke knows that."  
  
"The man's as naive as our sweet Merril and his ship just got rocked by one hell of a storm. A good looking storm mind you."  
  
"Flirt with her when she's conscious."  
  
There. There's a toe. Slowly, all too slowly, the rest of my body is rolling awake with that one twitch of a digit. Eyes open. This is Anders Clinic. I started to sit up getting my arms under me. Anders sees me and is on his way over in a second.  
  
"Anders?" My voice is groggy with sleep.  
  
"Marian?" His hand is on my shoulder holding me gently in place. "It's good that your awake, but you shouldn't move for the moment. You were badly injured, do you remember that?"  
  
Marian. The name is foreign on his lips. He does not call me that. No one calls me by my given name. I'm Hawke to these people. I'm Hawke to myself. I look at him, I really, really, look. Golden eye's full of kindness, but not familiarity, this is the way he looks at the patients he treats. Strangers. He's wearing his old robes.  
  
Oh.  
  
Dread. Already a pin point I was ignoring. Now It's pooling in my abdomen, a smooth crawl inching its way through my newly mended insides.  
  
Oh. Right. I was stabbed. A blade with a little skull on its pommel. Who's blade was it? When was it?  
  
I'm still in some strange void where I'm not me.  
  
I shuddered externally, internally, the walls caving in to crush me.  
  
"Hey, hey. You don't have to talk yet if you don't want too." Anders hand is firm on my shoulder. Grounding. Quieting the creeping panic.  
  
Do I remember what happened?  
  
I was going to the chantry. Everything was fine.  
  
I woke up in Lowtown. I was fine.  
  
I got to Hightown. I was fine.  
  
I saw two members of my dead family and a doppelganger of my Father in place of myself. I'm no longer fine.  
  
Then I was stabbed, Or I remembered I was stabbed. So my body decided to remember too. Then Not-Dad caught me. Or really, other me, caught me and was carrying me to the clinic.  
  
Then I must have passed out.  
  
Oh and he's a mage.  
  
Garrett. Garret Hawke. That's the he they're talking about.  
  
"Where's Garrett?" My voice came out shaky and sleep coated. Not how I like to sound at all.  
  
"He's not here sweet thing." Isabela from across the room. Perched on a cot with her ankles crossed.  
  
"He had to head out. He was very concerned about you though. Do you remember how you got here?"  
  
No. I don't know how I wound up in this void. In the past. Where "Hawke" is what you call a man named Garrett. I tried to sit up. Anders relented to the motion but kept a hand on my shoulder.  
  
"I was injured," my hands ghosted down to my abdomen to the blood soaked fabric around the cut. I'm still in my armor, well most of it, someone has done the courtesy of removing all my plate. "Garrett. He caught me. We were going to a clinic. I think I passed out."  
  
He nodded along. It all sounds very flat coming out of my mouth. The world feels very flat. Stagnant. Wrong.  
  
My hands fell to my hips where there are usually a pair of daggers. They are not there. Where is my stuff? I hunted the room with my eyes and found my belongings next to Isabela. One of my daggers across her lap and slumped by her feet my bag and my removed plate. She smirked when my eyes caught hers.  
  
I have to remember the exact number of coins I had in my bag. I carry so much around with me.  
  
"Do you remember _anything_ else?"  
  
Oh! Yes. Garrett is a mage. I'm a threat again. Good. Wonderful.  
  
"Garrett's an apostate." So are you, but I wasn't conscious long enough to observe that. The hand on my shoulder fell away.  
  
"Are you going to turn him over to the Templars?" strait to the point, his voice flat and controlled. Threat and concern clear in his eyes.  
  
Is justice just below the surface? Ready to leap forth and end a threat to a mage. I've only once been on the receiving end of Anders ire. When I first met him and he thought I was here to destroy his clinic and turn him over to the templar's. That was a misunderstanding. So is this.  
  
"My father was an apostate. It's really not a shock that one of his children would be too." I've had bigger shocks today. Like everything other than him being a mage.  
  
"You didn't answer my question."  
  
No? why would I? Even without the my moral objections to what templar's do. I have personal qualms with the templar order. I spent my entire childhood moving around Ferelden just to avoid them and keep the family together and safe. They drove me to bringing my baby sister to the deeproads just to protect her from them. They're the cause of half my problems in this bloody city. Why on earth would I side with templars.  
  
"Oh for fucks sake the man could burn down the gallows for all I care about Templars and bloody Chantry law. To answer your question. No. No I'm not going to turn him over to the blighted Templars."  
  
That was angrier than I intended, but the look of shock on Anders face is almost worth it.  
  
"Careful Anders I think she bites."  
  
"You really aren't fond of the Templars?" he sounds almost happy with surprise.  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, sounds like She's  feeling better. I was getting bored waiting." Isabela put my dagger aside.  
  
"Wait a moment Isabela." He looked at me, "Can I ask how you were injured?"  
  
"I-" how was I injured? I ran a hand through my hair struggling with the memory, a sword? "I don't remember."  
  
Something must have happened. When I went to sort out Meredith and Orsino something must have happened. For the life of me I can't remember what. Here and now I can't think of a single damn thing I can do about it.  
  
He was nodding again, but I caught the look of disbelief in his eye. He didn't press any farther though.  
  
I-  
  
I need too-  
  
I don't know what I need to do but I need to do something. Get out of here. Find out everything I can as fast as I can. I wasn't made for sitting still and waiting for things to sort themselves out. Three years is the farthest my patience has ever stretched and only because I-  I had other things to keep me busy.  
  
If I'm stuck here, for the moment. If I have to live with this situation I may as well make the best of it I can. I'm a Hawke. I was born to adapt, or conditioned to, after all.  
  
For now the whole truth is a bit of a stretch of the imagination. These people don't know me. So it's too much of a risk. It's always easier to build a lie around truths. So I'm Malcolm Hawke's first born daughter, and here and now that makes me Garrett Hawkes sister. I can build a believable story around that until-  
  
Until what?  
  
The unknown is stretched in all directions around me. I hate it. I hate this  
  
"I want to double check your injury now that you're awake. If you'll let me."  
  
"Alright."  
  
"I'll be using magic."  
  
"So was Garrett. Kind of obvious magic was involved here. I don't have a problem with it go ahead." I gestured at my abdomen whole and un-stabbed.  
  
He moved to my back, placing a hand over the opposite side of the wound. Out of the corner of my eye I could see blue light his hands. Cool fire breathing off his fingertips and sinking into my skin.  
  
"You could tell? I mean that he was using magic. That it was him using it."  
  
"Is that strange or something? It felt familiar." All magic I've encountered feels different. Unique to the caster. Perhaps growing up with mages kept me in tune.  
  
He nodded at that, "This is the first time you've met Hawke, Isn't it? He's never mentioned another sister."  
  
"Yes, but I did know my Father. They feel the same, look near identical too." I laughed despite the turmoil I was in. I'm with people I trust, people I'm comfortable with. Even if they don't know me. "That was certainly a shock."  
  
"Oh Love I think the feeling was mutual." Isabella came to perch on the edge of my cot.  
  
"Did you come here to meet Hawke?" Another of Anders questions. I was going to have to sort my story out sooner rather than later.  
  
"No. I didn't even know he existed." the truth. Easy.  
  
"Why are you in Kirkwall then?"  
  
"Is it common practice to interrogate your patients?" not quite biting back the bile that edged around my humours tone.  
  
Isabella gave the mage a look. Accusatory.  
  
"Oh Anders, the girls caught onto your schemes." She put a hand on my leg. "I'm sure you understand that Hawke was shocked by your sudden and dramatic appearance."  
  
I get the feeling I've been assigned some baby sitters. I sighed. Anders magic swept through me in pulses cool and soothing.  
  
"I mean I've known the man for over a month now and this is the first time I've seen him shocked." She waved a hand in front of her face as she mimicked a wide eyed expression.  
  
"We're just looking out for him." Anders hand dropped from my back, "You should be fine now. Though you may want to take it easy for a few days. Avoid any more stabbings like that."  
  
There was a knock on the door, a light tentative tap. Anders looked up abruptly. Always ready for the worst. One of the clinic assistants stepped over to open it. Three roughly dressed men stepped in. Or two of them stepped. The other was between them. One of his legs was bent at an uncomfortable angle where legs should not bend.  
  
Ouch.  
  
I recognise them as some of my miners. Dead now. Or they will be. That mine is a death trap. I heard Anders sigh like he was having the same thought.  
  
"Well those are some of Hawkes. I have to help them." Anders said before he walked off to greet the men's desperate and unnecessary pleas.  
  
I rolled my shoulders and swung my legs off the cot. Taking a moment to appreciate the floor beneath my feet, lacking for my boots, before standing up. I went to my bag and discarded armour. Isabela trailing just behind me.  
  
"You new to Kirkwall?"  
  
I nodded. I have a act to put on.  
  
"So why Kirkwall?"  
  
"Integration continues I see," I looked up at her, looking as innocent as a pirate can be. I shrugged  "Why is anyone here? There was a blight in Ferelden."  
  
That's the truth again. Though I may need to elaborate farther. By this point in time the blight has been stopped.  
  
I kneeled by my bag, a "bottomless" bag, enchanted. It was my fathers. Though it's almost unrecognisable now as I've upgraded it so many times over the years to increase the capacity. In no way is it actually bottomless. It can hold a restricted weight, but can certainly hold far, far, more than the small size would allow. A useful thing to have. Especially if you're as disorganised as I am.  
  
"So you're from Ferelden."  
  
"That I am."  
  
"I haven't seen you around, can't imagine you came in with the rest of the refugees a year ago."  
  
"I got here today." Woke up here today.  
  
I still have that Enasalin stuff. I fumbled around until I came across what I was looking for. Good thick padded leather belted around blue cloth with none of my beloved flashy red. Isabela watched over my shoulder a keen whistle leaving her lips. So she hasn't gone through it on me. I'll have to thank Anders.  
  
" Very fancy. Who's army are you supplying with that monstrosity of a bag?"  
  
I laughed as I unfastened belts and buckles and slipped off my leather pauldrons.  
  
"Army of one. A very disorganised one."  
  
"Useful little things. Hawke has one. Watched him shove 3 greatswords in it once."  
  
I think I have one or two in here at the moment. Not that I'm going to go looking, best to plan ahead for bag clean outs.  
  
I went rummaging again for the boots and bracers that went with the leather vest. Better to match to some degree. Less belts that way.  
  
"Do you know a good place to get a room in this city." unfastening a buckle at my waist as I spoke.  
  
  
"Oh there are a few. The rose is my personal favorite, if you have the coin. Hanged man is cheaper, but the company's not as good."  
  
I let out a short laugh she smiled.  
  
I dropped the heap of blood stained grey fabric and mail to the floor. It was once a sash about my waist, the majority of the blood was soaked in the fabric and the mail had been cut clean through like the rest of my layers.  I tisked and continued to undress.  
  
I slowly and surely loosed myself from the rest of the network of belts and leather fastenings.  
  
So many belts.  
  
"The Hanged Man, the one with the giant man hanging above the door?"  
  
"The very same."  
  
Finally free and  left in my red tunic and darker red trousers and the armour beneath. The blood wasn't obvious on the red. When eyes aren't trained on me and I can set to work getting it all repaired.  
  
"Shows over." I winked at Isabella, leaning on the cot and appraising me from the side.  
  
I got dressed in my new, old, armour over what I had left on. Not an entirely bad combination if I do say so myself. Stomping into the boots and securing their metal shin guards in place.  
  
 I bundled up my damaged champion armour, leather and metal rolled in bloodstained grey fabric dropped unceremoniously it in my bag. Disappearing in the enchanted space.  
  
"And here I thought you would strip in front of the entire clinic audience." She gestured to the rest of the room. The audience being three other people laying on cots and the two who brought in the man with the broken leg. I chuckled.  
  
"I prefer smaller audiences."  
  
"Mmmm. I do like the sound of that."  
  
She would.  
  
I'm meeting my companions again for the first time. These people I know and care about. I should make a good impression. Yes passing out bleeding to death is certainly going to leave some kind of impression. So a good second impressions then.  
  
I don't think I'm doing a bad job. I know Isabela. Care about Isabela. She came back. Came back because she trusted me.  
  
She'll still be looking for that 'relic' now won't she? Still hiding from the Qunari. Perhaps. If I have the means. I could change that whole ordeal. Couldn't I?  
  
Find the book. Kill Castillon who's been after her for so long. Stop the war with the Qunari.  
  
I can change things.  
  
I strapped my bag to my hip belting it securely as I pondered this over.  
  
Is it a good idea to change things?  
  
Some things certainly. But the Qunari. They made me champion. People had died, but my place and security in this city was cemented. The security came too late. But now? Now Garrett Hawke is a mage. He needs that security more than I ever did.  
  
Do I really think I'll be here that long?  
  
I fished out my coin purse on the way to the door. One of them. There are several. Which Varric never recommended I do. But I was never robbed, not since that first time. Or maybe all other attempts failed. Badly.  
  
Anders was alight with blue fire and the two miners were looking on with shocked expressions. The man on the bed was grimacing in pain as the bone in his leg was being magically snapped back into place. I waited for the healer to finish up, leaning against an empty cot. Good first impressions. I counted out twenty gold and dumped the rest of the coins back in my bag, retuning the counted coins to the now empty pouch. I could spare more but I may need all I have. I don't exactly know how long my stay is going to be. How long it will take to figure this-  
  
I looked around the room. At Anders speaking to the man on the cot. Isabella making her way over to me. This room that I know, dust, dirt, lingering rank smell and all, but little things are off. It's younger is what it is.  
  
I don't know how or when I'll figure out how to get back.  
  
If I even can.  
  
Don't.  
  
Don't.  
  
"I'll tell Hawke about this incident when he gets back. See what he can do." Anders was addressing the two uninjured miners. He turned back to the man getting up off the cot and tentatively putting weight on his miraculously healed  leg. "Try not to do any heavy lifting for at least a day, and if you can try to stay off it completely."  
  
"Yeah, sure. Thank you, thank you so much." There's fear there in the appreciation. I feel irked by it. Piss on the Chantry and the Templar's and all their fear mongering. Any person, mage or not, is capable of despicable acts, of killing, of murder. I've met my share of both.  
  
"We don't have much to pay you with Serah."  
  
I brushed the heavy memory I was thinking away. Mages and murderers.  
  
"No need."  
  
Really Anders. How do you expect to keep this place running with no coin at all? The men made their way to the door mumbling about getting back to the Bone Pit and I made my way to the mage.  
  
"Ah, Anders? I appreciate what you did for me." I rolled the coin purse in my hands, growing warm between my palms.  
  
"Couldn't just let Hawkes new sister die now could I?" He shrugged. There was, in those words, a hint of distrust. I shot a hand forward and grabbed his turning in palm up between us. Firmly placing the purse there. He flinched at first but I held firm.  
  
"Thank you. People die in this city all the time. I could have been just another to add to that number." I still held the purse to the mages hand. In case he refused.  
  
"This is a free clinic." I nodded and dropped my hands.  
  
"A donation from an, occasionally, generous person."  
  
Anders fumbled with the purse strings, a little shocked "oh" forming on his lips. A smug smile spread on my lips and I let it stay. Isabela went reaching over Anders shoulder and he pulled his hands away, dodging her.  
  
"Hawke has a generous sister does he? That's what? half the coin he had to earn to go on that trip to roads full of monsters and darkspawn." Isabela looked my way smirk on her lips. I can hardly imagine what she's thinking.  
  
"I- this will help so many people. We'll be able to afford more supplies. Thank you." He waved one of his assistants over from where she was talking to a patient. Talking to her in hushed tones, gesturing at one of the cot occupants, before handing her two of the coins. She went off out the door on her errand.  
  
"Well I'm off to get a room at the hanged man. I'll see you two around I suppose." I backed stepped ready to follow the girl out the door.  
  
"Yes. Sure. Would love to see you again Marian." He stared at the coins in his hand. A wide genuine smile directed my way. So rare.  
  
"I'm headed that way. How would you like to join me for a drink?" Isabela, smirk on her lips a silver between her fingers. "Hawkes buying."  
  
Oh. Garrett has bribed Isabela to keep an eye on me has he? That can go both ways you know Garrett Hawke.  
  
"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

  
  
Isabella slammed her tankard down on the table.  
  
"Hawke's big sister is rich. Where were you a months ago when he first started dragging us along to earn fifty sovereigns? How much are you hiding in there?" From the sound of it she had been sitting on that exclamation since the clinic. She half-heartedly reached across the table to my bag on my hip and I covered it with a hand averting my eyes from the new view down her shirt. In another life I would have appreciated that I'm sure.  
  
We're six drinks in. Or Isabela is, I'm on my third. I don't want to get to far gone and have my wits leave me entirely. The questions have been a slow trickle amongst our other conversation, and drinking, and watching assorted poets spew sweet nothings for the entertainment of the bar. The questions are there however, and the intent is clear. Who are you and what are your intentions? Are you lying?  
  
I've refused to let her pay. Let her keep "Hawkes" bribe.  
  
"I tell you that and the next thing I know I have no coin and there's a very rich pirate in town."  
  
Yes I'm lying, but damn have the years with these people made me good at cards. I nursed my mug of watery paint striper. The Hanged Man's finest.  
  
"Oh I would be long gone sweetheart. Stealing from someone like you. You scream dangerous Marian."  
  
Marian.  
  
"Do I?"  
  
I've been brief and brushed off a few of them. No need to be entirely open. People you're meeting for the first time don't crack open and spill their souls the moment you ask their name.  
  
"Mystery woman shows up armed to the teeth with a bag full of fun things and coin spilling out of her hands. Who is she? Where did she come from? Where has she been?" She held up a hand counting off fingers as she spoke, "Hawke's bastard sister of all things. She's been in the free marches for over a year. Was at the battle of Ostagar. Much better off than most of the refugees..." She ticked off the few things I'd felt safe saying and had hinted at. Little truths to build a false life around.  
  
I downed the rest of my drink. Haling down Corf for another. This feels reminiscent of the time I brought Donnic here for Aveline. The bar is louder. More crowded tonight. The familiar stench of blood, ale, and vomit extra think tonight. Laughter and gambling rumbling off the rafters. We're tucked in at a table close to the stairs.  
  
"I found a way. Mercenary work mostly. Traveled. Invested in the right places. You get by."  
  
"That's Vague. Are you sure you're not some lost assassin, or a queen of the underground. Robbing and swindling good nobles out of their riches?"  
  
"That's all there is to tell. I'm not so complicated a person."  
  
"Hawke will be disappointed. He's surrounded himself with lots of exciting people. Merchant princes, Ex slaves, Attractive Pirates," She beamed. Words trailing off into her drink. Corf came over with two more drinks.  
  
"Thank you Serah." I gave him the coppers. Isabela yawned audibly from across from me. Stretching her arms at the ceiling "Sounds like he has an interesting band of friends. How did you get caught up in his mess."  
  
"Oh, he walked in this bar and offered to help me kill a man."  
  
"I'm the dangerous one?"  
  
"Oh we're all dangerous kitten. You don't survive in this city without that particular trait."  
  
"So it seems."  
  
"You were stabbed."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Are you going to talk about how that happened?"  
  
"I wasn't exactly planning on it, no."  
  
"It must be an interesting story. If you're sticking around, you'll have to tell it sometime. "  
  
I'd like to know if it was an interesting story. How I came by a life ending stab wound like that six years from where I started.  
   
Well guess it's bound to happen eventually. Actually lying. It's not like I don't lie. I just don't lie to these people. It's usually the other way around, and even then, people have reasons for secrets. I don't fault them for that.  
  
"I had a falling out with my mercenary friends. We didn't make up."  
  
"Things do tend to  come back to bite you later if they aren't resolved."  
  
"Speaking from experience?"  
  
She looked at me with hooded eyes.  
  
"Am I?" is this a threat? An Isabela threat. Coated in honey and waiting for you to bite so she can twist the knife. I have never had the joy of being on the receiving end. That's usually reserved for Fenris, or Anders, or anyone inquiring about a certain book belonging to the Qunari. Or relic, I shouldn't know it's the tome of Koslun.  
  
I downed the slosh in my mug.  
  
"We both have our secrets then. You can't force people to share things they aren't comfortable telling. Whatever their reasons."  
  
"Doesn't stop us from being curious."  
  
"No It doesn't." I replied.  
  
 Three more tankards followed for each of us without much speaking between. Just bad poetry and watching the group at the table next to us cheat each other out of their life savings.  
  
I rented a room when I came in but I have yet to make it there. I'm thinking it's the best bet. Sort myself before I'm too drunk to walk or say something I won't remember later. Part of me wants to drown myself at the table with the worst of the drinks they can give me. Wake up two days from now and figure things out then.  
  
The room tilted as I stood up. I giggled to myself.  
  
"Well this has been a treat." I almost tripped over my bench as I tried to step over it and had to right myself. My knee banging into the table in the effort, giving a sly patron at our neighboring table the chance to sneak a card into the deck as the others starred at me. "But I think I need to slow down. And by slow down I mean go to bed."  
  
"Oh but I haven't even gotten you nearly drunk enough yet."  
  
"Isabella I'm the one getting you drunk here." I pulled a gold piece out of my bag flicking it in her general direction. "Well and truly drunk."  
  
If I can handle my drinks, Isabela is a master of them, she sniped the coin from the air before it went off across the room. Badly aimed. She admired the coin, rolling it between her fingers.  
  
 She eyed me coolly.  
  
"If you think I'm wasting gold on this swill. You have another thing coming."  
  
"Go. Go to the rose I won't hold it against you." I leaned against the table as I headed for the stairs.  
  
Stairs.  
  
"I like you Marian. You're the fun sibling."  
  
"Rich inebriated sibling more like. What's he like? When He's drunk?"  
  
"That too. Hawke. Hmmmm, he's a sappy drunk I'd bet. Never had the pleasure of meeting drunk Hawke though. That will need to change." Finger tapping her chin. "He will be disappointed I didn't learn anything about you."  
  
"Well I'm not planning on leaving Kirkwall just yet. You'll get your chance." I patted her shoulder on my way past. "Enjoy your night."  
  
I can drink and hold my faculties together to a degree better than most. I promise you that. But coordination. Oh, is it a thing of the past.  
  
"You bet. I'd ask if you'd like to join me but that might be to forward for a first date."  
  
I was already on the bottom step. And I really should have expected that from Isabela.  
  
"Ah. Not my thing. Not right now anyway." Currently monogamous. ha ha.  
  
"Mmm. Too bad. See you around Marian." I heard her stand boot heals tapping on the floorboards on her way out the door. Hate to be anyone who gets in her way tonight. Heading up the stairs, slowly, oh so slowly. To avoid the almost inevitable slamming into walls.  
  
Forward momentum gets the better of me. I'll stand up and keep going forward till I'm down again. Maker is it funny.  
  
The first wall I hit was Varrics door, And I can't help but snicker. Any more drinks and I would be over the edge. I managed to not lean in any particular directing as I trailed my hand along the wall and walked to my room at the far end of the hall.  
  
Maker what am I going to do.  
  
I managed to unlock and re lock the door and I'm in my crummy room. No Varric sweet. A bed against the left wall other sparse furnishings: a small desk, a wooden chair, and a chest. A stone tub to the right of the door a little grimy and walled off from the rest of the room the privy. Assorted colourful stains marred the wooded floors, a clear sent of musk and vomit in the air. Classy Lowtown living. Honestly did not miss it. In the slightest.  
  
I don't like it. I've never liked new rooms. Especially alone. Walking a few steps in and staring down the bed. I want to sleep. To sort out my ruined armour. I want to not be here.  
  
I want to be home.  
  
I don't like this room.  
  
I reopened the door. After struggling with the latch and key for a moment. A good long moment spent cursing when I couldn't get the key back in the lock. Headed back down the hall. I managed to not run into anything or teeter down the stairs when I peeked out to see if anyone was paying any mind. Convinced that no, no one is paying attention, I turned my attention to Varrics suite.  
  
This is a good idea.  
  
 The door is locked but it's easy enough to break in.  
  
By break in I mean use the key. Which I have had for over six years. I unlocked the door with drink heavy fingers.  
  
 It smells marginally nicer in here. That's something, friends make places smell marginally less terrible. I locked the door behind me sealing out the din of the patrons still busy downstairs. As well as the light from the hall.  
  
I shuffled forwards in the familiar space but still managed to bang my knees on the low table. I fished my flint out of a side pouch on my bag and fumbled my way to the closest wall sconce. It took a moment. A good few moments, but a spark caught and the flames flared to life.  
  
 Now here, the homey feeling I was missing. This great spacious room. Separate bedroom, a clean tub and privy in the attached room. All of Hightown's luxuries without the posh frills.  
  
Nights spent chatting and playing cards. Gambling when Aveline's not around or being lenient on those oh so rare occasions. Hours talking with Varric. Bad drinking games with the whole crew.  
  
I settled into my favorite chair against the wall by the table. A wide and short thing low to the floor and made for a dwarf like the rest of the chairs in here. You get used to it over the years. I flopped my legs over one arm and leaning back on the other.  
  
Home; A place with people comfortable enough to get dirty with you, and a place to scrub the dirt off later.  
  
Maker do I miss it already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt chapter description: Hawke is not a lightweight. On that note I'm basing drinking off, well, my only line of reference, which is myself. Like I don't drink very often maybe once or twice a year if that. Anyway if it seems like a lot of alcohol it's cause that's my tolerance. I mean Hawkes tolerance is a little better than mine, Isabella's is higher but I figure Bela's got a higher tolerance considering she's always at the bar.
> 
> Okay. Some chapter titles are serious some are me lamenting about how the Rogue champion armour works, but fuck it she's never wearing those belts again (maybe). Like my logic of figuring out those belts was to draw it and then give up when I realised they make NO sense. Where is the actual armour on this thing? does she have chainmail under the red part that I'm calling a tunic. Yeah let's just say that's what's there cause otherwise this is useless. Also refrence images for the back of the rogue armour do not exist. Anyway. Almost tempted to like post the shitty picture I did just to go over like yes this bit here, this bit is chainmail. 
> 
> I think it's a semi-consistent thing for me where the beginning of a fic is slow rolling and then it will speed up with the already known plot. Hopefully it's not too slow. Expect a few more chapters before the three year jump. Cause I am jumping the gap this time round. Don't worry everyone is a busy as they were in game. 
> 
> (ad;as note: chap four is still coming along. Sitting at 1.5k ugh. Sorry I'm being so slow with it! I really need to review bait and switch and canon quest order but I haven't gotten around to that just yet.)


	4. Tolerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris. The Deep Roads.

Hawke is tolerable. That's all he can give the man. Anything that you might find charming or even amicable about him is immediately met with equal parts adamant and outspoken love for all things magic. He counts maleficar and abominations among his close companions. The man himself is a mage after all.  
  
He even brought the Witch with him here, where the four of them would be cooped together for weeks without daylight. Fenris could practically feel the disapproval seep from her the day Hawke turned down the demon possessed rock wraith.  
  
Maybe Fenris can't help it, but he's following him. He'll argue it away as owing the man a dept. Not really however, what better does he have to do? Sit in an empty house and wait for the inevitable return of Danarius. He would rather have his promised aid when the mage returns for his lyrium.  
  
So here he was following another mage through abandoned dwarven roads.  
  
Any curiosity he felt regarding his new surroundings had long since been replaced by tolerance. A seemingly endless road stretched ahead and behind them. He had never been to a place quite like this.  
  
Life as a bodyguard and a man on the run head lead Fenris to kill many things. People of all kinds. But Hawke, he had a menagerie of new things. Dragons for a start. Now of all things he thought he would never see; darkspawn.  
  
They came in waves. Crawling out of side passages and from out of the stone itself.  
  
Despite that this endeavour had started out simply enough. Walking, occasionally killing the things that crept out to attack the traveling party. Until the day they ran into a block in the road. Hawke had volunteered them to find another way around, and to find a dwarfs lost son. In the process they had found the boy and the lost Thaig that all dwarves present but Varric were ecstatic over. Older, stranger, different from the rest of the deep roads they had seen.  
  
Deeper exploration into the dwarven ruin, in tandem with a sizable chunk of lyrium and a treacherous brother had lead them to be locked in a demon infested nest of chambers. The only way out to plunge deeper into the heart of the place.  
  
Hawke persevered, past demons, dragons, giant spiders, darkspawn, and giant rock wraith alike. Now on a strait, if long path to home, he was acting out of character. Trailing at the back of their little group some days, others spent rushing ahead. Not that Fenris was concerned. The man can look after himself.  
  
Most of the rations they had brought from the surface had run out days ago, now their water and food were collected from where they could be found. Mushrooms grew from the rocks, edible at least. Water however, came from the mages. They pulled it out of the very air in the form of ice, a muted form of an attack spell. Hawke was the better of the two. Elements seemed to be his specialty after all.  
  
It had never been apparent how disorganised the man was before now. He had had an old metal helm in his bag. He does not even wear helms. He is a mage.  
  
Said helmet sat over a magically ignited fire. Stewing within: a heap of mushrooms, various herbs that they had had left, and very likely a stamina drought as well. Varric was stooped over it prodding at the contents in place of stirring. Their group had settled down to camp a half hour ago after a full day, Fenris estimated, of walking.  
  
Sacks of gold and treasures hung over their backs and as far as he knew Hawkes enchanted bag was stuffed with it. The extra weight adding to the effort of the days. The man would be rich, Varric along with him.  
  
Fenris sat on his bedroll a few feet from the fire with his sword across his lap. Oilcloth running over the blade. Prepared for any darkspawn they might run into before they reached the surface. Varric estimated another week. If they were where he thought they were based on the maps.  
  
On the man himself currently. Fenris glanced at him again.  
  
Hawke is waving his hands about, pacing in circles. You can feel the magic rolling off him. The other mage is perched on a fall of rocks, close to him, looking nearly as antsy watching the larger man. Kicking her legs in time with his steps.  
  
He's been trying, mostly failing, to summon water. Ice spells he can do, easily. Either mage can cast them. Hawke, over the past day had descended into a tirade about how it's inefficient to cast ice and then fire to melt it. Should be easy enough to figure out he had insisted. Fenris couldn't imagine why it mattered at all. As long as they had water. Even if that meant being dependant on a, if somewhat tolerable, mage.  
  
"Why don't you try summoning fire and ice at the same time." Merrill suggested.  
  
"That, might-" Flames flickered on the mages fingers and steam rose in the air, "No. I need to take the- the bite out of the ice."  
  
"Maybe with more practice."  
  
He had seen the man control lightning and fire in the heat of battle with upmost precision. This was a farce and a wasted effort it was clear.  
  
"Does he seem off to you?" Varrics voice was more subdued than usual. Clearly not meant to be heard over Merrill's banter with Hawke.  
  
Varric looked up from his stew,  gesturing briefly with the spoon at Hawke. The man still paced, ice forming in the air around his hands. As he watched the ice shifted and for just a moment was liquid before it fell from the air and plinked off the stone, ice again.  
  
If the excess waves of magic Hawke is excreting are any judge, chaffing against his lyrium even from here. He is wasting more manna trying to invent a new spell than casting the two he already knew.  
  
"A mage attempting unpracticed spells? No, that does not seem 'off' to me."  
  
"Look at him Elf. He can throw lightning without blinking. Something's up. Has been for a while, you had to have noticed."  
  
"Perhaps being underground for a month has dulled his skills."  
  
"Sure, and those dull skills did not in fact wipe out that last group of darkspawn in seconds flat."  
  
"Clearly you have made up your mind that he is not himself. Is there a reason you're pressing me about this?"  
  
"Just making sure I'm not the only one who's concerned." Fenris was going to protest when Hawke himself gave a loud exasperated sigh. Ice shook from his hands like snow.  
  
"You almost had it that time."  
  
"Did I?"  
  
"I'm sure you could do it given enough time and concentration." Merrill hoped off her rock and put her own hands together. She was whispering under her breath eyes closed. "Oh! It's not so hard. Just a little bit of fire and a lot of ice."  
  
"Ah," Hawke looked in the other mages hands. "You did it."  
  
For someone who had been going on for nearly an hour at this. He did not sound excited in the least. Or even surprised that the other mage, worse at summoning elements, had outdone him. Yes. There was something off about their leader.  
  
"Is something else bothering you Hawke? I mean you are better at this than I am, usually, and you've been trying so hard..." She trailed off, water dripping between her fingers. "You could talk about it, I find that helps sometimes."  
  
"Nothings bothering me Merrill, but thank you."  
  
"You're going to lose all your new found wealth to Isabela next time we play wicked grace, Hawke." Varric pressed. "You can't lie worth shit."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind." The tall man resumed his pacing. No magic emanating from him any longer. Merrill came to sit on her mat by the fire.  
  
If Fenris was another person he might have thrown something at the man to get him to stop. He wasn't, So he didn't.  
  
" Hawke. Stop pacing. Talk. " He drew the oilcloth down the length of the blade as he spoke.  
  
Fenris knew the man to be calm and collected in battle, but eccentric as well. Hawke thrives on the chaos of it, the exertion of a fight. Hawke is never just cold efficiency.  
  
It would be a lie to say he had not noticed something was wrong. From the moment they went back to retrieve him and he almost spilled down the entire flight of stairs to Lowtown. Reinforced by his lack of enthusiasm for most of their battles along the way. He was all tactics and focus, it is not how this man fights. It lacks for his edge.  
  
Hawke stopped pacing. Slumping down on the stone his hands coming up to run through his dark hair. They remained tangled there, hair and hands nearly covering his entire face. Then he reached to a pouch on his hip. A book. Small, jacketed in worn unadorned leather. An expensive looking pen tied to it with a leather strap. Fenris has seen it before. In the moments after missions, sometimes when they ran into people asking favours or offering jobs. Hawke was quick to jot something down and then return the book to his belt. Fenris could not read the contents himself but it was clearly a log. Something to keep up the front of organised and in control that Hawke exuded.    
  
"We've been down here for nearly a week longer than planned." Hawke flipped several pages back as he spoke.  
  
Varric nodded mussing an hand through encroaching stubble.  
  
"My guess is we'll be another week longer. So is it the company or the lack of sunlight that's driving you up the wall."  
  
"I know. Neither." Hawke made no move to say anything else.  
  
 Merril had taken over stirring the stew. Fenris moved onto the claws of his gantlets cleaning the grime away while he watched the exchange between human and dwarf. Buffing the metal to a sheen. Varric leaned in towards Hawke, hands on chin.  
  
"What is it then?"  
  
"What if Fenris was right? What if she's gone by the time we get back? That asking Isabela to keep her around was a bad idea."  
  
"Your new sisters the one?"  
  
"Yes. Yes my sister who I left unconscious in a clinic in the undercity." There was a particular bite to the way he said sister.  
  
 "Thought it was odd you hadn't said a bloody word since you told me about her dramatic entrance."  
  
"Do you really think she would leave? Just like that?" Merrill chimed in.  
  
Hawke stood up and for a moment Fenris thought he might resume his back and forth trek. He didn't though, only came to sit on his sleeping mat at the opposite side of the fire from Varric, which put him between Fenris and the other elf. Clearly a buffer Fenris thought.  
  
"Who knows? I don't know why she's in Kirkwall. I don't know if she's telling the truth. I don't know a single thing about her other than that my father never, never mentioned having other children."  
  
"Then she's lying. Simple as that Hawke. You have made quite a name for yourself back in Kirkwall and dealt with quite a few not so friendly people. Never know who has it out for you."  
  
"She already knows I'm a mage. If someone wants me gone and they've sent her to do it. Maybe I'll have templar's on my doorstep ready to welcome me home." The man sounded like he was becoming unhinged, his voice above his usual volume.  
  
"I knew that was unwise." Fenris added then, his words were measured and he wasn't quite sure why he spoke them. Hawke stared at him expressionless, then looked back to Varric.  
  
"I don't think she was lying. Besides I did leave her with Isabela and Anders. If she actually had Ill intentions, one of them would figure it out and deal with her accordingly."  
  
"This is ready I think. Bowls please." Everyone made a show of handing Merrill their dishes which she filled with the thin unpleasantly coloured stew. The taste wasn't terrible. At least it wasn't the worst thing he had ever eaten. Comparable to the gruel they serve at the hanged man perhaps. Filling enough at least.  
  
Hawke stared at his food. The fire spit embers. Fenris, and everyone it seemed were waiting for Hawke to speak.  
  
Instead they ate in silence and then prepared for sleep. They had agreed to take watch in pairs, in case any darkspawn chose to wander this way while they slept. Hawke insisted on taking first watch, Fenris joined him. The others slept, their immediate fall into the gentle breathing of slumber telling the exhaustion this travel was putting on them all.  
  
Hawke sat on the boulder the smaller elf had perched on earlier. His staff across his lap. Fenris came to stand near him. The man was still clearly out of sorts.  
  
"It would not bode well for you to be distracted if any darkspawn do come for us." He spoke quietly. Hawke Laughed into the back of his hand. Fenris quirked an eyebrow. "I can't imagine how that was funny."  
  
"Oh but it was. This hasn't been distracting me from fighting. Quite the opposite really, fighting has been a welcome distraction from this." he waved a hand in the air, gesturing at this. "Don't know if you can tell, but I've been trying not to think about her at all actually. When we have something to do I can focus solely on that. Now though. We haven't run into any darkspawn since we found this road to the surface. There's nothing to take my mind off it now."  
  
"So attempts at unpracticed spells was your choice of distraction."There was a hint of distaste in his tone.  
  
"Yep. Water in all it's dangerous complexity."  
  
The elf rolled his eyes.  
  
"What will you do once we reach the surface?"  
  
"Go home. Tell Mother we can buy back the estate. Hug Carver just to rub it in a little. Take a well needed bath. Celebrate."  
  
Fenris could just imagine the younger Hawke's reaction to that, and it had him stifling a laugh into his hand to keep the noise from carrying.  
  
"And what about her?" He remembers nothing of a family. If he ever had one. How to deal with discovering formerly unknown siblings is entirely out of his frame of reference.  
  
"The ominous Marian. Here I thought you might be trying to distract me. I don't know exactly. I don't know if I want to know anything about her." Hawke shrugged. "At the same time though, I want to know everything. How old she is. Where she grew up, how. Why she's here. If she knew we were here. Why my Father left."  
  
Father is a bitter word, one usually spoken with reverence.  So that's it. It's the father that has him failing at simple spells and charging through battles with over calculated precision. The way he talks about the man, this reaction should be expected. Though from Hawke it was almost a surprise, for as long as Fenris has known him, he effectively and consistently moves with the unexpected, excepts changes and makes it.  
  
"That bothers you. That your father abandoned a child." A mage on the run. It did not make sense for a man like that to have a family. It made sense to leave. Then Malcolm Hawke had had a family, a wife and three children. From what he understood the Hawke family had moved across Ferelden in an attempt to avoid Templar and chantry scrutiny all because the man was a mage. No it made far more sense to leave. Fenris did not say that though. Hawke was likely thinking along the same lines.  
  
 He was waiting for Hawke to speak, he didn't for a while. Long enough that Fenris thought he may have struck some nerve farther than he had intended to.  
   
"I want to know why."He repeated. His words were spoken at the ground, his voice rough. "Family was everything to him. I don't understand this at all." He shook his head and when he looked up he was expressionless. "If I don't make it back before she leaves, I'll never know anything. What I want to know won't matter then will it?"  
  
" If Marian has in fact left, you could easily track her down."  
  
"Could I? I only know her first name."  
  
"I wouldn't put it past you, and you certainly would have help." He flicked a hand towards the sleeping dwarf. A merchant prince with an ear to the ground. Not to mention that Hawke was well on his way to being nobility. He had the bloodline and now the coin to fit the name. Far above running around back allies and aiding bystanders for meager coin. Who would Hawke become in the months to come, what about a year's time, two? Do nobles run errands for strangers with a band of misfits?  
  
Would he still be willing to help a former slave?  
  
"Hm. I suppose that's true."  


* * *

  
  
When he woke the next day he could feel magic in the air. The heat of it on his lyrium brands starting him awake. Fenris sat up before he had fully registered everything.  
  
Fight.  Run. Fight. His hand went for his sword at his side. Ready for whatever threat was here.  
  
Blinking sleep away he noted only Hawke. Awake and seated in front of their ever burning fire. The steady, and now familiar, pulse of magic was Hawke's. Varric and the Blood Mage still slumbered. He felt calm and irritated all at once.  
  
A string of curses in tevene escaped his mouth hushed and sleep heavy. Living alongside mages again. It was maddening and came with a long learning curb. Magic had never been a pleasant thing, a mundane thing. He was not nearly as used to Hawke and his magic as he should be given the months spent fighting alongside him.  
  
"Sorry." Hawke wasn't looking at him. Fenris stared holes into the top of the man's skull through his black hair. The tall man was hunched over and focused on the helmet that was balanced in his lap. His hands were steady above it. As Fenris watched water pooled, spilling off his palms and into the Helm.  
  
He didn't use words as Merrill had, Hawke had greater skill with the elements after all.  
  
"I should be used to your carelessness by now." Words still muttered in sleep. He rubbed his eyes and racked  fingers quickly through his hair. "You did not wake me for the last watch."  
  
Hawke shrugged at that as he placed the makeshift pot on the stones that held their fire.  
  
"I would have woken you if there was any trouble. Besides we have a long day ahead of us, again, it's best you're all well rested."  
  
Fenris could agree that was sound enough decision. The elf sat up and adjusted the armor he was still wearing. Hawke sliced mushrooms directly into the simmering pot. Looks like the days are falling into a rhythm with four steps. Thin soup, walk, thin soup, sleep. Repeat. At least Hawke seemed more himself today. That was, good, Fenris decided.  
  
Easier to tolerate this way.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay these notes go away from me. A very vague DA:I spoiler at the bottom. Reveals nothing unless you know what I'm talking about. Warning you now.
> 
> I read Fenris as a bit indifferent towards everybody in act one, (at least until he establishes friendship/rivalry with Hawke. Decides weather or not he trusts a mage!Hawke) still willing to throw his opinion out there though. That reflects in the sometimes more passive/observant voice here. Also not 100% confident in all my word choice here so I may come back and change it a bit to put things more ic. Hope it's not too different from the writing in previous chapters I just don't feel right using first person for NPCs. There won't be too many non Garrett or Marian chapters though so if it's not your thing they won't pop up too often. I just like to get a bit of the other characters pov from time to time. Like this could have been a Garrett chapter but I felt like it was a good Idea to see how other people see whats going on with him. Both G and M are reeling a little bit from their new figurative and literal change to their world. 
> 
> I also got a question about Sebastian the other day. I figure it's a good Idea to address it. 
> 
> It's not likely that Sebastian will end up in any of my fics at this point in time. I don't have any of the DLC for DA:2. I could watch someone else play it to get all I need to know to write him but I would rather play the add on and the rest of da2 (again) myself to get to know his character. That said if, after I'm done with DA:O which I'm still on my first play through of, I manage to get the DA2 DLC and this fic is still at a point where I can ad him in without it being obvious that he was not intended to be here I might add him in.
> 
> IS WHAT I WOULD SAY. But I make sound financial decisions so I traded two, read that two, of my games with my younger brother to get a $25 dollar Microsoft card he had lying around. (one of them was one of my fav games) So I now have the Sebastian DLC (as well as legacy) so I just need to finish up origins and do a play through of 2 and Sebastian will likely end up here. I even have a good idea for the role he would play. 
> 
> DAI Spoiler is here:
> 
> Also origins is killing me because I got a particular choice from Inquisition spoiled for me (hard to avoid this spoiler actually) while I was still playing da:2 and knew nothing about Origins. Then had it a little more spoiled for me after I had already started O. So now I'm kinda putting off the da:o choice that determines who is involved in that da:i choice if y-know what i'm talking about. Cause I was not going to play it like I will have to play it to avoid being devastated either way. So I'm debating with myself if I'm going to do it how I would have or go for the easy future choice that kinda fucks up the way I'm playing O currently.
> 
> I DO NOT HAVE DA:I.
> 
> SO PLEASE NO SPOILERS FOR IT IN THE COMMENTS THANKS LIKE DON'T EVEN TALK ABOUT THE CHOICE I'M TALKING ABOUT I ONLY KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT IT TO AVOID THAT PARTICULAR OUTCOME AND NOTHING ELSE ABOUT IT OR THE REST OF THE GAME SO PLEASE DO NOT.


	5. Faithful Mabari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They say the mabari is clever enough to speak, and wise enough to know not to." Hawke is glad for that.

I've been here for four weeks and two days. Garrett has yet to return. He won't be back for another week if things go for him as they did for me. 

I flipped through my log of the deeproads. We were down there for over a month, two weeks longer than the estimated three. All because of Bartrand and that blasted Idol. As well as a long road and fatigue. If things turn out the same, which, I think they have considering no one has disturbed my current residence in Varrics room. They'll be back early next week.

I've been sending letters. To Orsino at first. I didn't go into exact detail of my predicament. Only that I wanted an audience with him and the situation was somewhat urgent. 

Then when I wasn't getting any responses I started sending letters to Meredith as well. 

I almost forgot how to sign my first name. I can't sign as Hawke now can I? I'm not Hawke here. I suppose I could still sign with it. That would add another layer to my back-story, and another notch out of my father's honour. 

That implies he was married to my mother. Why yes he was. It's true. Oh you thought I was a bastard? Haha why would you ever think that?

This will have to lie through. The very thought of marring his name any farther is cringe worthy. 

Here and now I'm just some whelp he fathered on a girl he fancied and then he moved on.

I recognised him though, so that would mean he was around long enough for me to know him. I'm twenty six, and a half I remind myself. Garrett is twenty now. So I would have been, I counted on my hand, born six or is it five years before Dad met Mother? I was actually born a year after they had run away together.

My logs don't help with this. I slammed the book shut and put it away at my hip.

I don't need to remember perfectly anyway I would have been somewhere between four and six when he left. Reasonable enough to remember a face if not much else. I could read perfectly at six, I could remember a face.

Before me on Varric's table is a fresh letter to Meredith and another for Orsino.

"To the esteemed Knight Commander. I would again like to request an audience with the First Enchanter. I still believe he may not be receiving my letters. Some confirmation of that would also be appreciated. Signed, Marian." 

"Orsino, would be wonderful to actually receive some correspondence in return. Even if it is to simply say no. In fact I don't even need to see you. Having access to the Gallows library would be efficient. My thanks, Marian." 

I can't really know whether or not the templar's are withholding my correspondence from Orsino, or if I am simply being ignored by Enchanter and Commander alike. I guess it's to be expected. The gallows are the gallows after all. 

And I am no one here.

It will be the second I have sent to the Knight Commander and the fifth to the First Enchanter. Therefore they are written polite and annoyed respectively. I do hope I will get some response this time, though it doesn't seem likely.

I think my next move will be to contact the Dalish. Marethari may know something about my current circumstance. 

I have to. 

There has to be some way. 

To undo this. Whatever happened.

Maker I wish I could remember how this happened. My hand fell to my gut, beneath my clothes a clean pink scar is all that remains of the once vicious wound. I get the impression magic had to have been involved in some way.

I did get a courier yesterday night, from the blacksmith. Slightly disappointing. My Chainmail is fully repaired. Ready to be picked up at my leisure, with kind thanks for early and generous payment.

Reasonably and responsibly, I have not once slept in my own room here. There is a comfortable chair in a comfortable room with running water that I much prefer. I'll have to leave it soon though. They will be back eventually. I'll have to get used to, and probably clean, my own room. For now. One part luck and one part stealth have kept anyone from noticing my nightly "break ins".

I ought to have gotten up already and gone to get my armour. The light coming in through the windows says it's still morning but nearing noon. I'll have to take care sneaking out of here. Or go out the window, I had to do that once already. Isabella was by the door, talking up some man. Whether it was genuine flirting or a lead on tracking down a lost tome I have no way of knowing because I could hear her putting a key in the lock and I was gone.  
At least I'm not the only one who uses the room while Varric is gone. I wonder how many of us do?

I collected my things and re-latched my bag to my belt. Walking to the locked door. Time to greet the world. An ear to the wood informed me that the bar below was bustling with a few early drinkers, but I did not hear any foot falls in the hall.

To avoid squeaks I swung the door open in one swift smooth motion. Just wide enough to get out. A quick glance down the hall confirm that no one was in the immediate vicinity or looking my way before I slipped through the gap. I shut the door behind me, leaning on the wood as I locked it behind my back. Lingering a moment just relaxed against the door. Taking in the din of the bar and muffled voices in the adjacent rooms.

Food first I suppose. Then to getting my armour. While the day is young I may as well look around jobs to keep my coin purses from going dry. Who knows who I'm going to have to bribe to have a letter received in this city.

I took the stairs two at a time, keeping my mood chipper, and a hand over my purse as I wove my way through the sparse patrons on my way to the bar. Isabela wasn't here. So she is either up and about or likely still asleep. I usually say hello. I've made a show of hanging around the bar for Isabela. I even popped down to dark town the other day to see how the clinic was doing.

"Hey Corff."

"Ah Marian! What can I get for my new favorite customer? That room of yours alright?"

"Bowl of the hanged mans stew will do me for today."

"Always a pot in the kitchen." He waved Norah over and she disappeared in the back to get my order. "Anything else you need?"

"Heard any rumors around?"

"You know that young Hawke lad eh? The one who went into the deeproads with Varric Tethras. Dwarf who lives in the suite here. Some people are saying something happened to them all down there. "

"Oh, really?" 

"See a fellow I know heard it from his brother's wife that the older Tethras brother was seen back in the city. None of the rest of them he set out with were with him." 

"Sounds awful."

"It's really too bad. I liked that Varric."

"Say, did anyone catch where Bartrand was headed?"

Revain. 

"Not that I heard. You know him or something?"

"Not really." I shrugged. Maybe it was too much to hope for. To catch him before he's out of reach. I had tried to keep an eye out. Perhaps I could get a hold of the idol before he's too far gone. Too much to hope for. Norah popped out of the back room with a wooden bowl of innocuous stew on a tray. Which she placed gracelessly on the counter between Corff and I before returning to her rounds. "I'm sure the rest of them will come out fine."

"Glass half full sort are you? Well I hope they make it out too. Would miss having that lot around here."

I nodded and took the bowl from the tray dropping a few coppers where it had been before retreating to a back table near the stairs. Sat facing the door.

I sipped on my stew. Haven't had it in a while. It is as bad as I remember it being, but filling, so at least that hasn't changed. I popped my log open again and wrote down the days plans.  
________________  
Letter arrived for Armour  
-Olaf, hightown.  
Look into finding work  
-try chanters board  
-ask guard about gang activity  
________________

The door of the pub banged open, familiar boots on the floorboards. The gait of a woman of the sea. I looked up to see Isabela across the room looking back out into the street. 

"Are you bloody serious?"

"Of course I'm serious Isabela. I can't go following him around for the rest of my life."

"Hawke isn't even back yet. In fact I think hes late. Isn't it normal for family to worry. Are you that cruel Carver?"

Carver? My pen fell to the table forgotten.

A dog gave an agreeing bark as it pushed passed Isabela and through doorway into the pub. A mabari war hound. My mabari.

"Not you too."

"See even the dog agrees that you aren't making good choices."

"Hes a dog. Haw- Garretts dog." Carver came shrugging through the open door.

"Well we better get you one last drink." Isbella pointed towards the bar.

Standing up, I tucked my book back in my belt. I'm going to go back upstairs, retreat to my unused room before I freeze again. I have yet to decide how to deal with my family. These living ghosts.

I took a step back, the mabari looked my way. Our eyes locked. I faltered a step. 

"Mabs." was past my lips before I could stop it. So quiet it was lost in the din of other people. No one would hear. But Mab did. The huge dog tilted his head and gave a low questioning growl as it huffed at the air. Several people looked at the dog in alarm. Including Carver.

"Mab?" Carver turned away from Isabela. Hand stretching out to rest on the dogs shoulder. 

So Garrett is as creative as I am is he? I snorted. 

The dog chuffed and gave an excited bark, short stub of a tail shaking, before bolting forward away from Carver. Corff shouted something. Carver stumbled as the dog shot out from under his hand. 

The floor reached up to slam me in the back as I was tackled by a ton of muscle and fur. My head banged against the floor boards, blinking back stars. I couldn't breathe, the full weight of a mabari war hound pressed on my chest. His big head in my face slobbering and snuffling. He whined with confusion. 

The hanged man had become rather quiet and I could feel eyes on me and the enormous hound crushing me beneath it. Probably expecting blood. A vicious dog attack. Everyone unanimously holding their breath.

"Hey boy," I choked out pushing at his head. "Can't breathe."

"Mabs! Get off boy." The dog ignored him. I could hear my brothers boots on the floor as he came to a halt beside us.

"Please." Mab gave another whine as he sniffed at my face, but backed up. I latched on to his collar and was pulled into a sitting position. The big goof was still seated on my legs. "That's slightly better."

"Are you alright?"

I absently scratched under the big dogs collar, the way I know he likes. 

I got this same treatment when I came back from the deeproads. Minus the confusion. Something about me must remind him of Garrett. That he picked up on something and now here we are. 

"Yeah." the word came out of me breathy. My hands were gripped on my dogs collar. Mabs eyes were locked with mine and I think he understood that for just a moment I needed him here. Even in his confusion. The feeling that turned me to stone that first day. When I saw my dead brother. It's trying to creep it's way in.

I can't be shocked now. 

I am Marian, Garrett Hawkes bastard sister. Bastard sister. A stranger. He does not know me. I don't know him.

Maker did I miss my annoying little brother though.

"Mabs off." The hound glanced at Carver, then back to me for confirmation, should I listen? I made no move either way and he gave an arrogant bark in Carvers direction. "Off now, or I won't take you out again before Garrett gets back."

A tilted head, woofing quietly. 

You mean you're not Garrett? 

Sorry boy he's not back yet. I blinked apologetically.

"It's okay boy. He'll be back soon." I whispered. "It's okay, he can stay." this time to carver. I really don't mind the dog. 

"No it's not. He shouldn't. He's never done this to strangers before. Unless-"

"Unless he's attacking them." My tone was calm, remarkably calm, unwavering, the opposite of how I felt. I detangled my claws from the collar. Carver grabbed it in my place and pulled the dog off me, muscles in his arms straining as Mab made no move to aid in his effort. I smirked and the dog smirked back.

I missed the closeness of Mab immediately. For a moment I was frozen. Carver is right there. So anywhere else. The room is still quiet but interest is leaving the dog tackled woman. Isabela has made her way over and is standing a few feet off watching with upmost interest. I could silently mouth my "help me" to her. Save me from my brother who doesn't know I'm his sister. I won't though. 

I ran my hand over the lump forming at the back of my head and hissed. Mabs gave an apologetic boof. 

Carver is watching me.

"Are you alright?"his hand was outstretched towards me. "Let me help you up."

I stared at it for perhaps a second too long earning me a quizzical look from dog, pirate and brother. It's just a hand. Taking it he hauled me too my feet. 

Grip familiar. Calloused, warm, alive. 

It was unbelievable. As anything that's happened here. This man is whole and alive. 

My brother is alive.

"Thanks." I was smiling entirely uncontrolled.

Carver nodded and let me go.

"Well Marian that was nearly as good as your last introduction. Not dyeing this time, though the last time I watched that dog tackle a man her ripped open his throat. So perhaps it was a close call."

"You know her Isabela?"

"So news hasn't spread to you yet. This is Marian, Hawkes newest recruit. Mysterious queen of the underground. "

"I think Marian would suffice Isabela. The rest is a lie." I brushed myself off. Mab, free of carvers grasp, came to lean into my legs, as close as he could get. "You're Carver I expect. Garrets brother. I'm Marian. I thought someone would have told you about me by now." I glanced at Isabela. She shrugged. 

"I didn't think Hawke would want me too, but if you want to rile up a few more Hawkes I'll spill the news." 

"What news?"

"Carver meet Marian, your mysterious half sister. Oh and look at that, I think he's taking this just as well as Hawke did." There it is, the defamatory accusation. On the table for all to see. Carver was stock still hands balled into fists, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Right. Very funny Isabela."

"Afraid I'm not joking love."

"You seriously expect me to believe my father wasn't faithful to Mother?" Noise had returned to the tavern but Carvers voice was threatening to rise over it.

"No." I interjected. "I don't expect you to believe your father was unfaithful. He was not unfaithful. Plain and simple." I gave Mab a pat on the head and stepped back over to my table, leaving the party to follow. The hound at my tail. Seated, and clear that they were following I continued. "I am twenty six years old."

"What?" Carver barked still standing. Isabela came to sit on the opposite bench and patted the seat next her. Carver stood.

"I am twenty six. In half a year I'll be twenty seven."

"A little piece of the mystery is unwound." Isabela crooned as Carver, reluctantly sat beside her, clearly very reluctantly, wary almost. Like I would throw another blow at him any second.

"That means?"

"I was born long before our father ever met your mother."

Your mother. Maker damn how much that sounded like a lie.

"So I'm just supposed to believe you? Isabela?"

"How would I know? Your brother believed her well enough. Said she has his eyes. Even if you don't like it."

"If it's any consolation I wouldn't believe me either." I shrugged and tucked back into my stew. "You two were arguing when you came in. Can I ask why?"

"Your little brother here has gotten it in his head that he should join the Templar order." 

"You're going to become a Templar?"My spoon clacked back into my bowl. I couldn't keep the shock out of my voice. I would never have thought carver would betray our family like that. Any more than I ever could. We were mages. Well two of us were, once, but magic was always a part of our lives. In our blood. How could he?

He still had a brother who was a mage.

"I knew I shouldn't have said anything to you." Carver glared at isabela.

Carver a templar!

"Seriously a templar?" My hands dropped uselessly to the tabletop almost in appeal. 

"Well you can't expect me to trot around at my brothers heal for the rest of my life now can you. I need to make a name for myself."

"Becoming a templar is a way to do that now is it?" That sounded like 'how could you,' even as I tried to rein in my emotions.

"Why do you care anyway? Saying we share a father does not suddenly make you family, even if did believe you. My family certainly doesn't have a say in my choices so why should you?" He stood hands slamming the table. Oh I missed him. I really really did. 

I could see the hurt in his eyes. That clear burn of betrayal, mistrust, confusion. A fathers love tainted by a lie. They will never know it's not Dads lie but mine. 

Ignoring the sting at the back of my eyes and the weight of my words in the pit of my gut. I won't be here long. I'll find a way back soon. My lies won't matter. I shook my head. I could get angry, or I could apologise. It really isn't my place, now more than ever, to make choices for him.

I'm the stranger, the bastard sister. 

I summoned up my inner polite voice. It sounds an awful lot like a certain elf from Tevinter. 

"I apologise. I know it's not my place. I just think it is an odd choice is all. Considering our father was a mage." I turned my eyes away staring at the dregs in my bowl. Mab put his head in my lap giving me a look between begging and concern. Carvers stance relaxed slightly but he angrily puffed air out through his nose. "I have things to do. I'll leave you two alone."

"Things Marrian?"

When will the drilling end?

"Boring things." She nodded along like I just told her everything she wanted to know. Carter sat back down as I stood up. "See you around."

I headed to the door, and in my rush it took me a moment to realise a set of footfalls had fallen in behind me. I turned to see Mabs at my heal. Carver was staring eyebrows raised. 

"Mab."

He gave an apprehensive bark. He knows this tone of voice. He does not like it

"Stay with Carver. Garrett will be back soon. Don't you worry."

"Mabs to me." Carver was standing again. Begrudgingly, I imagine, walking towards me.

"He doesn't act like this around anyone but Garrett." There was a note of worry there. I wonder if he's heard the rumors yet.

"I had a mabari once."

"Then you know mabari only bond to one person. Hes acting weird."

"I'm sure he just misses your brother, I must remind him of him some."

Mab gave a chuff. As if to say maybe.

"You do seem a bit like him." Carver crossed his arms at that. Staring with brotherly distaste with an extra edge of discomfort. Well I suppose it's not too far off from how I remember our relationship going.

I nodded. I'm glad the dog can't try to explain why he's acting like this. Though I doubt there is a solid reason. We are the same person. It makes sense that there is something there even if it takes a dog to see it. A very smart dog. What's that line about mabari and being able to talk? 

I kneeled on the dirty floor to better talk with Mab.

"You have to stay boy. Though I would love to spend time with a great dog like you." 

He gave a whine. Big baby. I ruffled his fur. Corse beneath my fingers.

"I'm sure I'll see you around. Come visit me if you want, I have a room here." I pointed up the stairs. I leaned in close and Mabs tilted his head to listen as I whispered, "besides your Hawke will be back soon anyway, so don't go falling for me just yet." 

That got me an unreserved lick to the side of the face. Slick drool from lip to ear. Smearing away the slobber I got back to my feet. I swear if hounds could laugh that's what he was doing.

"Well it was nice to meet you both. Mab. Carver." I held out a hand tentatively. A friendly Fereldan gesture. Not so common in the free marches. Then waited. Carver stared almost like he'd forgotten how to do it before he took my hand in a firm grip. This is the second time I touched my once dead brother. My breath hitched but I squeezed his hand back and shook.

Carver let go first and went back to his table flagging down Norah on the way. I heard one last catch of their conversation as I walked to the door. 

"Well that was fun. You know what I was just thinking?" 

"What now?"

"Do they make you swear a vow of chastity?"

"Shut up Isabela."

"How will you ever live with it?"

"Why is it always like this with you?"

The din of the bar and Isabela laughter faded as I opened the door and stepped out into the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chastity thing is a joke but like ??? whats the deal with that? its implied they are in the wiki (paraphrasing but they are supposed to be entirely dedicated to the order)? but sometimes they are married? have kids? is it one of those things where like if you were before you are a temp you can but if not no? or are they just not supposed to have sex outside of marriage? idk DAO implied one thing (desire demon giving templar an illusion of a family hhe could not have) and DA2 kinda throws it under the bus. But I feel at least reading the wiki that it's a nights watch kind of thing? maybe?
> 
> Also I actually have DAI now!!! Have only just started it. (it took me more hours than I'm willing to admit just to start the game lmao, like downloading/updating/getting available free ad-ons/figuring out how to use the blasted "keep"/designing my character(3 times, I fucked up exporting my world from the keep) Not to mention that I have an old tv so it's a struggle to read the small print so I missed all the instructions and it's so different from the previous two games that I was just completely overwhelmed by all of it, also if anyone knows what button (xbo360) to use when the dialogue wheel shows up when companions talk to you during banter at random times like??? it's a completely new feature and I could not figure it out and Google has failed me.


	6. Queen of Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is surprised.

Air, sea, the distant smell of city, and a hint of a threatening storm.  
  
Daylight, dull and cutting between clouds still bright enough that I'm covering my eyes while they adjust. It looks like rain. Bleak, desolate, harsh. The wounded coast. Five weeks underground with nothing but caves and cavernous ceilings and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.  
  
Maker do I want it to rain. For the sky to cascade water down on us. It's been too long. My hands twitch.  
  
Electricity.  
  
I can feel the storm on my fingertips. Two elements calling to each other. One in me and one up there wanting to crack the straining line between calm and rainfall. No one would appreciate it quite as much as I would though I believe. Despite our exclusive club of haven't bathed thoroughly in a month.  
  
Merrill's gleeful sound behind interrupting the urge as she emerged from the road. We had seen the light days ago. The road was strait and long but that light had fueled the last few days journey. The little Elf was practically twirling on her dainty feet as she looked up at the sky. Arms reaching up, spread wide.  
  
"Oh Hawke can you believe it!"  
  
"Hardly can no. You sure we didn't pass out from exertion and this is just a shared hallucination?" I breathed in, let my mana settle back down the urge to throw lighting at the clouds receding. "We're finally back!"  
  
"Hate to say it but Kirkwall is still a day off." Varric pointed in the direction of the city down the coast. Cut and stacked on and from the cliffs, it's great ominous statues visible even from here.  
  
There are a dozen things I need to get to. A hundred if I'm not so lucky and I have not been lately. If this entire trip is any judge. Now on the other hand rich and unlucky does not seem so bad. It may also be a rout to losing new gained riches fast, now that I think about it.  
  
"Well then we'll have to camp out here. It'll be a nice change."  
  
"Lost your taste for deeproads too?"  
  
"Maker yes. I'm never eating another mushroom so long as I live."  
  
"Sounds like a plan Hawke."  
  
There's still a trek back to the city but what's a few hours on a few weeks. I think a long break is due for everyone after all this. Home. Friends. That other thing-

* * *

  
  
The clouds curled above us. In the distance sheets of rain fell over kirkwall. The rain scented wind blew the trees along the road edge. No such luck here. My feet were sore. So sore. My leg muscles have had about as much as they can take. Maybe it was the change in terrain but I feel so much more aware of how much everything aches now that we're out of the deeproads.  
  
No faltering though. We'll camp come nightfall. Which can't be too far off. Maybe we'll get lucky and the rain will make its way over before then, or we'll find a stream.  
  
"Can anyone else hear that?" Merrill had paused a pace behind me.  
  
I stopped.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It sounds like- fighting, or a party-" Merrill turned her head, directing an ear to the sound that I couldn't hear- "Very cheerful."  
  
It was faint, blades clashing. Shouting. Laughter.  
  
"Directly ahead of us." Fenris had his sword unsheathed already.  
  
Varric sighed. Loudly. "Can't catch a break can you Hawke."  
  
"Can we sneak around?" I tried. My mana pool is slim. I don't have a single lyrium potion left on me.  
  
"It does not sound like it can be avoided. Whoever they are. Their fight is being driven this way." Fenris.  
  
"They're already in combat." I said. We are not up for this. I took my staff out anyway, gesturing with it. "Get off the road. Let's let them fight it out. Hope they don't notice us."  
  
Merrill was the first to precede, picking her way through the brambles and rocks into the denser trees, dead trees. Not much for hiding. Rocks and dead trees. What's to be expected, Really.   
  
Hopefully luck will be on my side.  
  
Verric followed after her. I crushed my way into the brambles. Fenris followed.  
  
"They will see us."  
  
"Not immediately."  
  
"As you say Hawke."  
  
We put enough distance between us and the road that having three ranged in the party would be advantageous.  
  
The clang of steel was all the louder now as I made my way behind a rock not quite large enough to shield me from view. Fenris wasn't fairing much better, but Merrill had all be disappeared, the forest seeming to welcome her home. Varric was a shadow amongst the stones.  
  
A woman back stepped into view on the road. A bow in hand. Twanging as she released and arrow at a foe I can't yet see.  
  
"That's Seven!" The confidence in the woman's voice was strained.  A figure took two steps and slumped to the ground in a heap only for another bigger form to take it's place.  
  
"Stop counting!" This voice was gruff. Tired. A man tropping forward in heavy plate. The shield on his arm thick with arrows.  
  
"Sorry, old habits! You know." Quick as silver her fingers sapped the bow string again and again. The man staggered as two arrows nested themselves amongst the others on the shield. Narrowly blocked.  
  
"We outnumber you! just give us your gold and we'll let you go."  
  
"I have lots of arrows!"  
  
Another made their way into sight. A great sword in hand. Slashing haphazardly at three who approached.  
  
Smoke erupted around them, and a shadow fell on one of the three. The other two were left coughing as a woman rose from the corpse she had made of the other one. The boy with the Sword shielded his face with his arm.  
  
"There are more coming." Fenris beside me. Snapping my attention away from the fight.  
  
The elf shifted back and forth on his feet.  
  
"We wait it out."  
  
"You do realise who that is do you not?" He pulled his sword from its sheath flashing bright in the brief rays of the setting sun.  
  
The smoke had cleared when I looked back. Isabela stood back to back with Carver as the two highwaymen circled.  
  
"How did I ever let you convince me to do this." Carver threw off a man who approached with a slash of his blade.  
  
I rushed down, Staff in hand. Fenris cutting his way ahead.  
  
"Come on, we needed a tank!"  The woman with the bow. Still backing away from the man with the shield. "Two rogues out on their own with the whole coast sprawling with highwaymen and cutthroats since Garrett's been gone! You want us to go alone!"  
  
"Carver I'm shocked. Weren't you just saying how skilled you are?" Isabela chimed in as her blade took one of the oncoming men in the throat.  
  
"You could use the extra training before you go off to join the enemy too, don't you think?" I- That voice-  
  
"You're as bad as Garrett!" Carvers blade clanged off the shield of the lasr man in front of him. He stumbled back. In those few seconds he was open for an attack. I have to move. My staff swung at the man's head. Channeling the enchantment within forward to the blade. Fire exploded as pike met skull and he dropped to the stones.  
  
"What's so bad about me now?"  I ripped the blade from bone and tissue.  
  
"Hawke!" Isabela's shocked cheer. More were up the road now. The renforcments. Fenris fell into the fray with Carver. I could feel Merrill's magic rising from the woods behind me.  
  
"Not so outnumbered now are we!" That is Marian. An arrow finally missed the shield of the plated man taking him in the jaw. A clank came from the edge of the woods and a bolt imbedded itself to the fletching through helmet and skull of her opponent. He dropped to the ground.  
  
"One!" Varric, six shy of Marian's count.  
  
I dug deep and let lightning crack on my fingertips. The sky echoed with it, a bolt striking off a sea spire in the distance. The thunder rolled across the clouded sky drowning out the fighting. I let my lighting go, jumping to the nearest enemy, bringing them down, and snapping to the next.  
I caught Marians smile flash out of the corner of my eye.  
  
The calm broke, and the storm began in earnest. 

* * *

  
  
She stood ringed in corpses. Rain washing away the blood spatter and soaking in the same breath. Marian. Her face was expressionless. Maybe I've been staring too long, but the smile that had practically cracked her face through the whole fight is gone. She does not look like the same person without it. She does not look like the girl who was dying in my arms weeks ago either.  
  
Here in the rain she looks real. Her eyes are open. Looking at me. Brown eyes. Dad's eyes. She looks like him. More than Bethany did, more than Carver. She's darker like him, I may have his features, but she Is Malcolm Hawkes Daughter there is no deigning that.  
  
No matter how much I want too.  
  
She's here. I can ask questions. She can explain.  
  
Maker am I exhausted.  
  
What are they doing out here? Why is Isabela here? Why is Carver here?  
  
"This was unexpected." Marian blinks. I blink as the words leave my lips.  
  
"Unexpected for who? You have the whole of Kirkwall thinking you're a corpse rotting in some old dwarven ruin Hawke." Isabela chimed in. She was kneeling over the body of the man with the pincushion shield, reliving him of valuables.  
  
"What?"  
  
"According to the rumors anyway. Not that we believed them. In fact Carver nearly knocked a man flat at the Hanged man this morning just for suggesting condolences were in order."  
  
"Did you really?"  
  
Carver gruffed, shrugging. He turned his attention to the corpses, picking them over for weapons. The rain was falling all the harder and behind me I could hear Merril working her way down from the forest.  
  
"Anyway you all show up out of the blue. It's like- It's like-" Isabela leveled her eyes at Marian "Marian. How did you know they would be here?"  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"How lovely you look when you lie."  
  
"I knew the highwaymen would be here. That is why we came out today."  
  
"And we drew them this way because?"  
  
"We were three on what? Two dozen. I was headed for higher ground."  
  
Merrill stepped out from the dead wood into the rain with the rest of us. Eyes wide and locked on Marian.  
  
"You have an answer for everything don't you."  
  
"I try."  
  
"I'm not convinced. You were insistent that Hawke would be fine the other day. Do you have eyes out here? Ready to send word to you in your hidden lair." There was nothing actually accusatory in Isabela's tone. Playful. Like they knew each other well enough that this was casual, an inside joke.  
  
"I was hopeful, and If I had a hidden lair would I be living at the Hanged Man?" She retorted in the same tone.  
  
Living at the hanged man? She lives here?  
  
All the questions, all the words I had been wanting to say for weeks on weeks were caught in my throat.  
  
"Something wrong with the hanged man?" Varric fished a pendant off a body and hefted it to Isabela.  
  
"The only room with its own running water was rented out by some oh-What did Corff say? Bella my information network is failing me. An enchanting writer, but I can't recall the name-"  
  
"Varric Tethras, " the man stood up.  
  
"Marian." She bowed her head in his direction. "Nice to meet you Varric."  
  
"You're hawkes sister?" Merrill sounded delighted.  
  
"I suppose I would be."  
  
"You suppose?" Fenris cadence came from over my shoulder. Marian's eyes shot his way, wide to the whites. All mirth seemed to leave her features at once. Merrill looked between her and the other elf. Marian looks almost sick.  
  
"I-" She blinked, tearing, I swear, tearing her eyes away from Fenris and turning bodily away. "I only meant, considering we share a father,  we are- technically siblings." Her words were directed somewhere between the ground and shoreline in the distance.  
  
What was that? I looked to Isabela and she  looked as perplexed as I was by the blunt change in Marian and the overall atmosphere. Here I thought I was the one having a hard time with this. She was so casual with everything else and she looks at Fenris?  
  
The rain kept falling.  
  
"You do not consider him your brother?"  
  
"I-" She looked at me, rain smattering her hair to her face. Then she walked away. Not very far, just to the dead man with the arrow filled shield. "No," She plucked an arrow from the wood. "I guess I don't."  
  
"We should hurry and get out of this rain." I offered, to cut away the sudden onset of tension.  
  
"We cleared out a cave down the road. Well, they cleared out of the cave." Isabela gestured at the drenched corpses while jingling their former coin in the other hand.  
  
We were drenched. To my relief and everyone else's discomfort. Weeks of sweat and blood and dirt swept away. Running off onto the road as we trekked along.  
  
Replaced with a tight knot of anxiety. Here she was. Marian.  
  
Last I had seen her she was unconscious in a bed. Before that her voice had been week, words whispered as blood spilled from her. Yet here she walked. Taking the lead of the party, chatting politely with Merrill and her curiosity.  
  
Alive, Well, and real.  
  
My half sister.  
  
Who became rather prickly after mentioning our relation. Or it was Fenris?  
  
She was put off by fenris?  
  
What's so off putting about him?  
  
Besides the spikes, and overall pricklyness?  
  
I mean he's good when you get to know him, and ignore the distrusts-all-mages bit too. And it's not like he's unattractive?  
  
I don't see her immediate deterrent.  
  
So clearly it's the relation.  
  
She is not happy to discover her father had other kids.  
  
Thats-  
  
"Hawke?" Fenris broke my stupor. The rest if the party was well on ahead and here I am frozen in place.  
  
"Yeah." I shook my head and went forward.  
  
"You did not question her."  
  
"No. I-" I ran my fingers through damp hair. "Was a little overwhelmed I think."  
  
"You were overwhelmed by a single woman after carving your way through the deeproads?"  
  
"I don't carve. I make things explode, eloquently." Fenris rolled his eyes.    
  
"You certainly take no measures to hide what you are."  
  
"Not when I don't have to." He gave a brief nod, but didn't say anything as we watched the others ahead of us. Clearly distracted then. We walked on a ways down  the path before I spoke again. "What do you think of her?"  
  
"She is-" his eyes trailed after her down the road, she walked between Merrill and Isabela.  Laughing at something Isabela said. He squinted, shook his head, "skilled. Whether or not you can trust her at her word I cannot say. Is it not you who should be forming an opinion?"  
  
I usually land on decisions easily, see the different choices, pick one. Move on. Live with it. Marian though?  
  
As much as she was stuck at the forefront of my brain for weeks. As much as I tried to distract myself. Make a decision. A full comprehensive thought on what I was going to do when I got back here. It was all, is she going to be here? How do I find her? All caped off with a need to know more without actually really wanting to know that "more." But she's still here. Right here. Twenty paces ahead of me, and it's like the whole of the  world suddenly revolves around her. Maker I wish I knew how to handle this at all.  
  
"And here we are!" Isabela flourished her arms in the direction of a cave opening off the road. The sun was on the decline, definitely headed to sunset. Time to set camp I guess. 

* * *

  
Torches still burned brightly along the walls as we found our way into the cave.  
  
"Should check for traps." Marian pulled out a fine blade, like one I knew both Varric and Isabela carried. "Anyone like to join me, or do you guys need to catch up?"  
  
"I think you can handle it." Isabela waved her on ahead.  
  
Marian walked well in front of the party, far enough to be out of hearing range. Dropping to the floor every few moments to disable a trap.  
  
I fell in step with Isabela.  
  
"So?"  
  
"So?"  
  
"You've spent some time with her. Anything you can you tell me?"  
  
"Going to be honest Hawke. I like her. Almost too good- like someone I know. Running to save some poor soul in lowtown, or going out to the coast to fetch something or other- or clean a cave out of highwaymen waiting to rob tired unsuspecting travelers." She eyed me on that last line.  
  
"So she's a saint."  
  
"Hardly, at least nowhere near as bad as you." She chuckled, patting me on the shoulder.  "Well, there have been occasions where I think I've caught her in a lie, but then she's telling the truth again, and I don't know Hawke, the way I see it, sometimes, people need their secrets."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually cut this chapter short here cause it was long enough and I haven't posted in a month! (because I actually kept re-writing the scenario for this meeting to take place, and I think this one works, finally.) Next chapter will likely be from Garrett's perspective again and a direct continuation from here.
> 
> Time again for a question in my notes: Does anyone know what season/month Ostagar takes place?
> 
> Also I am really REALLY bad at commenting back to people. Please don't let that discourage you from leaving messages though I read all of them!!! I love them!! thank you!!! I'm just a nervous bird.


	7. Truths and Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is getting tired of surprises.

Signalling for us to halt. She stopped and un-slung her bow. Sweeping an end over the floor, scattering away sawdust, revealing a pressure plate. Marian dropped to one knee and shimmied her blade between the  tile and the stone floor. I heard a faint click. She stood and gave the plate a swift tap and it heaved and clicked under the weight of her bow- and nothing happened. Whatever trap it was meant to trigger was successfully disabled.   
  
"That's probably the last of them, we've been thought all the tunnels now, and the other group will be about done too-" Marian glanced my way, eyes gold in the torchlight, "but I'll do one more sweep. You guys go find a spot to camp." She moved off to a branching tunnel, we had already gone through it earlier, and vanished around the bend.  
  
"Give the girl a chance." Isabela said. Tucking her trap blade away at her belt.   
  
It's clear where Isabela stands on the sudden new sister issue. Maybe I should have convinced someone else to keep an eye on her while I was away. It's like Isabela just let her fall right into the fold.  
  
I, I'm not so sure what to think yet.  
  
If I can trust her.

I have not had time to process it yet.  
  
Five weeks.  
  
She wasn't right in front of me for those weeks. I tucked her away in the back of my mind, tried too, and distracted myself with the now of our situation. Demons and darkspawn and long lost dwarven relics.  
  
I would deal with the possible sister when I got back. I thought I would have to find her. I thought I would have time to adjust, plan, think about what to say and what to ask and how to ask it. Now all that tucked away turmoil has spilt out, and I'm not quite sure how I am right now.   
  
She is here right now, she is the now situation. Marian.  
  
"Hawke?" Isabela eyed me, and Merrill looked concerned as she rung out her scarf. Soaked concerned friends.  
  
"We should see if Varric and the rest have finished up and found us good spot yet."  
  
As appealing as the rain had been, after our fight and the trek to find the cave, giving us enough time to get a bone deep soaking, the dry cave was nice. Even if it was just previously occupied by a group we killed down the road- Who in all likelihood were not entirely wiped out- _At least that's been my experience with gangs and Kirkwall_ , and littered with traps as Marian had suspected.   
  
So not entirely ideal, but we could manage.  With three rogues skilled enough with traps, it wasn't long before we'd had the place swept over and knew all our entrances and exists.  
  
Isabela, Merrill and I made our way to the main cave where there was a raised outcrop of rock, reached by a set of creaking stairs and adorned in a few wooden platforms of equal creakyness, gave us a view of the rest of the tunnels. Useful in case any more highwaymen came along.   
  
I paced.  I mean- I tried not to.   
  
Pacing happened anyway.  
  
Merrill started on a fire, and Isabela was admiring her new trinkets and made a quip about wanting to strip out of damp clothes coupled with an accusing glance my way.   
  
"I have something for that." I started, breaking my even back and forth.   
  
"Ah our saviour and her clutter." Isabela dropped the pendant she was analysing back into the pouch .  
  
Marian stood down on the floor below. She patted her bag on her hip then glanced away towards a noise. I heard it too. Varric smooth voice coming from one of the joining tunnels. They had finished with their half of the exploration then. Marian made her way up the stairs. They almost didn't squeak with her footsteps.  
  
She deposited her bag  by the fire. Then herself, and proceeded to pull bundles of cloth from the depths of a, after a moment, obviously bottomless bag.  
  
"Not the best-" She shook out a long wool shirt, "but," She made a face. "Better than damp armour, right Isabela?"   
  
Isabela snatched the shirt from her hands and darted off past me to a crevice I had not noticed in the wall.  


* * *

  
  
The little side cave was- Pretty, if you ignored the dusty old crates. A lichen grew across the roof that hung with pale glowing orbs, giving the whole room a pale blue glow.  
  
I slapped my dirty wet robes down over a crate. Marian had clothes, copious amounts of threadbare and patched pants, shirts and scarves. More than enough for everyone. All of which she had rummaged for in a bag that rivaled mine for disorganised. Maybe it runs in the family-  
  
I pulled on a pair of the old trousers.   
  
Marian has settled in. Settled so easily-  
   
Almost like she was meant to be part of my little group, or something-   
  
Yeah.  
  
My long lost half sister.  
  
Part of the group.  
  
Mother won't take that well.  
  
How will I ever tell her?  
  
I shrugged into my, new, old shirt and walked out of the alcove.  
  
"Hawke that trick with the lighting. Pretty sure you brought all this-" he wrung the sleeve of his coat, drops of water falling to the stone, "down on our heads."  
  
"Benefits of having a mage for a friend Varric." I smiled.   
  
"I'll remember that for next time Hawke." He made his way past me to get out of his soaked clothes.  
  
"You have so many scarves. I don't think I've ever seen so many."  Merrill sat next to Marian in slacks and a shirt two sizes too large for her.  
  
"When you pick up everything while you scavenge it tends to build up."  
  
I hung my robes over one of the old rails with everyone else's stuff, save Fenris'. He had opted for drying by the fire. I suppose that his leathers and metal wouldn't absorb water quite like mage robes.  
  
"Wouldn't pick you out as a scavenger." Varric came out from the side cave and sat, now similarly dressed to Merrill. He sat on his bedroll to the other side of the fire from the girls.  
  
"Well every little bit can add up. How do you think I wound up wealthy."  
  
"Your connections to the dark underbelly of society-" Isabela ran her fingers through her damp hair, lacking for her signature bandana. She sat to the other side of Marian dressed in only the long shirt Marian had first pulled from her bag, baggy and going down nearly to her knees.  
  
"Isabela."  
  
"Marian, You know what I think. I think it's time for the game!" She rolled over and reached into her small bag at the head of her mat. Retrieving a bottle.  
  
Well this is Isabela.  
  
So if the game does not involve drinking, or cheating, it wouldn't really be Isabela now would it.  
  
"If that's what it takes for you to stop thinking I'm some gang leader."  
  
"Oh what's the game? Does it have rules?" Merrill asked.  
  
"Well Kitten. I ask Marian a question. If she doesn't have a _good_ answer or doesn't answer she drinks. If she does have something to share I drink."  
  
"They've been at this for weeks."  
  
"Carver doesn't like to play with us." Isabela winked at him. He grumbled about carrying drunk people and returned to silence.  
  
"Can I play too?" Merrill was practically bouncing.  
  
"Does everyone here want to bombard me questions?"  
  
Yes. I didn't say it.  
  
"Do the rules change with more players?" I said instead. Sitting down between Isabela and Varric.

* * *

  
  
The rules did change. Anyone can ask anyone a question. Or group wide questions. Where a person drinks if they don't answer an asked question. Or you drink if your question is asked. Drink more if you asked more than one person. It was mostly drinking.   
  
Marian answered about as many questions as she took drinks. Which would leave me feeling anxious if the same could not be said for every member of our party. And I trusted these people. Carver had backed out of the game already. Sprawled out on his sleeping mat with his eyes closed and an blanket over his legs. Quietly breathing, so he wasn't actually asleep yet.  
  
Carver snores if he's really sleeping. I hadn't picked up on it at first- but carver seems more irritated than usual. Choosing to tuck in for the night instead of staying up to receive the blunt end of Isabela's humor. Or go all puppy eyed over Merrill.  
  
"Marian, you have such pretty hair. How do you get it to stay like that? With all the flicks-" The little elf air traced Marians hair. Black short and layered. Almost as short as mine.   
  
She rolled one of our bottles between her hands. At some point a second had come out of her own bag. A dark wine, as opposed to the mysterious amber liquid that Isabela had brought along.  
  
"Hmmm, that is a good question. Why do none of you ask questions like Merrill? Sweet, innocent, genuine questions because you're curious. Not because you want to pick my life apart with a fine toothed comb." She eyed us all, Isabela especially, then she giggled.   
  
"Hawke are you avoiding my question?" Marians laughter continued all the harder after Merrill's words. She coughed into her had to stop herself.  
  
"No, No. I can answer this one. I think. I think it's just the natural texture, and a little combing now and again. I used to keep it long." She took a hand and drew it down her torso, stopping nearly at her hip- "About there I think. It got in the way unless I kept it up, so one day I chopped it off." She thumbed a lock, "Maybe shorter than I needed too. My mother got-" She stopped, looking down into the contents of her bottle. "Well I like your questions Merrill. My turn."  
  
"Who's it going to be? More prodding about my relic?"  
  
"Nope. I have a question for Garrett."  
  
"Oooh." Isabella waggled her eyebrows. "Garrett." Isabela exaggerated every syllable of the name. Everyone knows it, they just don't call me Garrett, "She has her first question for you."   
  
Marian held out the bottle, Isabela intercepted and took a swig before passing it to me. The bottle was heavy glass, and warm from contact with Marians hands.  
  
Most of her questions were for Isabela. Teasing questions that Isabela didn't often answer directly. I think she's just trying to see how drunk she can get Isabela. She's had a few for Varric and Merril. Business and Dalish questions respectively. This is her first for me, and Fenris- She hasn't really looked at Fenris.  
  
"How did you end up here?"  
  
That's an incredibly open ended question.  
  
"Is that against the rules?" I asked Isabela.  
  
"Rules? Mmmm. No. You can always not answer."  
  
"It's an open ended question. Do I get clarification on here? Like this cave-"  
  
"What led to you being here? Leaving Ferelden. Getting into Kirkwall. All of it."   
  
"That's a lot of answers for one question."  
  
"I suppose it's an all or nothing kind of question then. Though, I guess I could ask anyone for the story, I'm sure lots of people know the general details."  
  
"If it's a story you want. You're asking the wrong person here Marian."  Varric leaned forward, "What do you think Hawke?"  
  
"Go ahead Varric, You'll tell it better than I ever could."   
  
I put the bottle to my lips and took a swig. 

* * *

  
  
 Varric told my story, albeit with a few added flourishes. Marian sat in rapt attention. For the first half Merrill was the same but, not for lack of interest I'm sure, she started to nod off.  Her head drifting towards Marian shoulder every few minutes before she would bolt back up.   
  
Fenris listened from his seat between Varric and my sleeping brother, with the wine bottle in his hands. I don't think I imagined that he was looking mostly at Marian.  
  
Isabela had the other bottle. I suspected that she was slightly miffed that I cut short her game before she got anything really good out of Marian, so she had taken to lounging on her bedroll. Light snoring drifted from carver.  
  
Varric finished his tale with our battle with the rock wraith. Which he left the whole, hiding behind pillars for over half the battle out of. Marian smirked, If I didn't know any better I'd think she knew he was exaggerating the truth.  
  
"- Which is a better ending than the one where we all walked down a road for a week. So now you are all  caught up to where Hawke is now."   
"You were a smuggler? Why didn't you go for the mercenary group?" Marian had turned my way, Earnest curiosity written on her face.  
  
"Ehh, They seemed a little more- sketchy than the smugglers. Pissed off Carver." She smiled, then reached over Isabela to take the bottle from her hands. Which earned her an almost asleep grumble. Marian took a swig.  
  
"No comments about the Woman who turns into a dragon, or the demons in the deeproads?" Varric scoffed.  
  
"Every story has it's big flares. It's the little details that make it really interesting."  
  
"Glad someone can appreciate my work." Varric gave her a warm smile, before stifling a yawn. "It's been a long couple of weeks. I think I'm out of the game for tonight."   
  
Varric stood and pulled his mat a few feet away from the rest of us and the fire before tucking himself in to sleep. The fire crackled. The old dry wood splintering down.  Isabela sat up to take the bottle back from me. Leaning against Marians shoulder as she drank.  
  
"So are we still playing then?" Isabela started. "I have a few more questions for Marian."  
  
I'd like to ask her about our Dad.  
  
I don't know what to ask. Or how to ask it. It's probably a sore spot. It- certainly feels like a sore spot to me.  
  
"Alright, ask away Isabela."  
  
"Why don't you want to have sex with me?"  
  
"Isabela!" So that's where this is going-  
  
 "Shush Hawke. I mean, You've admitted to thinking I'm beautiful, attractive was the word you used I think." I raised my eyebrows, "Don't look at me like that-  She did say it a few nights ago, Carver was there. We're perfectly compatible. I am honestly, and earnestly curious."  
  
Fenris covered his mouth. Amused. I think. Swirling the contents of his wine bottle. Glad you think we're funny Fenris. Isabela is flirting with my sister-  
  
Marian smirked, then frowned.  
  
"That's actually harder to answer than you think it would be."  
"It can't be. You don't strike me as the tied down type. Can't be so complicated."  
  
"I didn't used to be, No. Now though-" She took Isabela's bottle and drank. "In another life Isabela we could have had some fun."  
  
"Balls, You're married? Engaged?"  
  
Marian tipped the bottle back again shaking her head.  
  
So she's involved with someone- that's interesting.  
  
Not what I want to know, but interesting.  
  
Speaking of what I want to know. Maybe it's not too much of a sore subject.  
  
"I have a question for you."  
  
"Mmm?" She tapped the bottle.  
  
"How much do you remember about Dad?" I shook my head, "I mean, how long did you know him?"  
  
She inhaled, and squinted up at the roof.  
  
"So hard questions are in now. Mm."   
  
"You can always drink more." I pointed to the nearly finished bottle. She swished the liquid around.  
  
"No." She held the bottle out to me, I took it. "I knew him for a few years. When I was too young to really remember I guess. I remember what he looked like. The way he used to look at me. The way he and mom used to look at each other- Uh, well I guess you don't really want to hear about that-"   
  
I drank.  Isabela coughed, sitting up strait.    
  
"I have a better question for you Marian." Isabela pointed at Fenris, He looked up. "Why won't you look at Fenris here?"  
  
She glanced his way then stared at her lap, instead of at his face.  
  
"Uh-" She fumbled with her hands, like she was trying to find something. The silence stuttered on painfully. I still had one bottle, Fenris the other.  
  
Sore subjects aside I could not let this go on.  
  
"We all know he's attractive. It won't distract you for much longer trust me." Marian looked at me, for a second I though her eyes looked extra glossy. She Blinking. Then she looked away shaking her head.  
  
"Hawke-" Fenris started.  
  
"What? You are attractive Fenris."  
  
"I agree." Isabela patted Marian's knee. "Don't worry, You'll get used to living with all us attractive people. Oh! Is that why you won't have sex with me? Are you shy?"  
  
"Right. Yeah. Sorry." She huffed out an almost laugh. She didn't look at Fenris.  
  
The game went on for a little longer. Marian, asked me a few questions about things I had done in Kirkwall. Isabela pestered Fenris with insensitive joke questions, he took them in stride. Eventually when we were down to one bottle, and my eyes were getting heavy-  
  
I must have started to drift off. Isabela was out cold. Fenris Had the bottle. I shifted stretching out on my mat. The fire crackled, carvers snores were getting louder.  
  
"You should sleep. It sounds like you all had a very-" I heard her shift, "I can handle the watch."  
  
"That would be welcome. You-" He stopped. "Wake me for the second watch."  
  
I heard Fenris removing his breastplate and other metal oddments. Not comfortable to sleep in.  
  
She must have nodded in reply because I didn't hear anything else.  
  
Or maybe the alcohol and exhaustion had already taken me under.  


* * *

  
  
I woke to the smell of spices and the warm smell of meat. I was nearly the last to wake. Carver was gone.  
  
"He had to get back early. I would have gone with him, but I figured the road would be clear for now, and someone should let you know." Marian was stoking the fire and cooking a pair of skewered pheasants.  
  
 Isabela and Merrill were off changing back into their, now dry, regular armour and clothes.  
  
"He didn't seem too happy yesterday. Well less so than usual." Varric said from over where he sat on a crate inspecting Bianca.  
  
"Well, It's Carver." I stretched. Fenris was just getting up too.  
  
"Did you wake any of us for the watch?" Fenris looked bedraggled, like he had actually slept for once.  
  
Marian looked at him. Made eye contact. I blinked. She was still looking at him.  
  
"No. You were all dead tired. I couldn't do that." She shrugged, "I was fine."  
  
"She woke me a few hours ago." Varric started.   
  
"Are those ready, I'm so hungry. We haven't eaten anything good in so long-" Merrill and Isabela were on their way out of back alcove. Merrill holding her stomach. "Oh you're looking at Fenris now! That's wonderful."  
  
Marian sighed loudly.  
  
"Thank you Merrill. They'll be ready in a few minutes." She turned the skewer. Looked back at Fenris. "Sorry."  
  
Marian could really cook. We ate, packed up, and were on the road again. My muscles were al angry but I tried to not let it show.   
  
We made it back to the city in good time. With no more pitfalls on the way. It was about midday. Fenris left on his own for Hightown. I asked him to say Hello to Aveline if he saw her on his way.  
  
The rest of us stopped at the Hanged man. Leaving all our earnings with Varric. Promising to see each other again in a few days. After we recuperated.  
  
I was headed out Varric's apartment door Merrill behind me. Marian was there, waiting. I felt a pang of that fear I had in the deeproads. That she would be gone when I went to find her again. I still had so much to ask. Maybe. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard.  
  
"Well Garrett, It was nice to meet you, all of you, when I'm not bleeding out on the cobbles."  
  
"Ah, It was good to meet you to. Marian. How- How long are you-" She held up a hand, interrupting me. Smiled.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm literally right down the hall. As far as I figure I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. So you have all the time in the world to drill me about my past, and who I am, and what else have you."  
"Right. Good."  
  
"I- I'm sorry if I've caused any problems for you."  
  
She feels guilty about it. That's not. I-  
  
"We'll See you around then."  
  
Merrill and I left after She said her excited goodbyes to Isabela and Marian.   
  
"I can't wait to sleep in a bed again."  
  
"Me too."  
  
I walked her back to the alienage, just in case she got lost, before making my way home. I could hear voices inside as I made my way up the stairs.  
  
The door opened inwards. The end of a journey.   
  
I jolted back.   
  
My own bad joke from weeks ago came back to me. A strange woman claiming to be my sister knows I'm a mage.   
  
There is a templar in the middle of the main room of my house. Clad all in steel with a red flame wringed sword emblazoned on his chest.   
  
Mother is visibly upset.  
  
The man turned to me.  
  
It's Carver.  
  
Maybe Marian isn't the biggest issue right now after all.

* * *

  
  
I ran loose healing magic over my own muscles, re opened scabs, blisters, that one spot where a dragons claw had lodged in my bicep. Sprawled in a tub to short and shallow to fully submerge. Or perhaps there is just far too much of me. A gangly monstrosity. The water a grizzly shade of grey brown from the filth I had scrubbed off. Skin nearly raw from that too.  
  
Rain had not done much for our cleanliness after all.  
  
I'm done with the deep roads. Never going back. Even if begged.  
  
Mother locked herself in our shared room after Carver left. No matter what I could have said to him I knew he had made up his mind. Spurred him one too many times. Never quite agreeing on things. I understood wanting purpose. But templar's?  
  
If it's what he wants.  
  
Sure.  
  
I get left with the pieces and the blame-  
  
Mother is distraught. Dejected. I have no misconceptions, she loved her twins. Now both are out of reach. A templar, and gone. My magic flickered, nearly gone with exhaustion.  
  
 They were always her twins. Like I was always dads firstbor-   
  
Marian.  
  
Marian was our fathers first born after all.  
  
Marian who once lay bloody and unconscious in my arms. Laying on a table healing, breath growing stronger and I want to stay, but I want to go too. Leaving was important. We can reclaim mothers inheritance. An estate in Hightown where she lived as a girl until she met father and decided he was worth losing everything.  
  
What would she think of him now?  If she knew about Marian? Of the things Marian has to tell about my Father.   
  
Dad. Would you have lied to us? Why?   
  
I still don't want to believe it. There's still so much to find out. After last night. It's hard to see it as a lie.  
  
Marian is real and she's not lying about this.  
  
Right now though.  
  
I can't give Mother any more blows, and I can't stay in this house tonight.  
  
Not now.  
  
Not with mother like this.  
  
Not when I can do something.  
  
 I sighed. The water sloshed as I stood in the tub, hands above my head. I pulled on the magic in me. Summoning fire and ice in balance to my hands. Water spilled over my head. Easy.   
  
I toweled dry. Unstopped the tub. Pulled on an old linen shirt and a set of dark trousers. Hopefully I don't get mugged from here to the hanged man. Slinging my staff over my back in a holster I walked out into the main room. Where Mabs lay by the fire and Uncle Gamlen nosed over a letter. He looked my way. The man always looks a little irritated.  
  
"So you made it back after all."  
  
"A little late."  
  
"Couldn't have stopped him if you tried. You found something worth it down there?"  
  
"Yeah we did."  
  
"Does that mean I'm finally getting my house back?"  
  
"Soon." No energy for fighting with my uncle at the moment. Or discussing family betrayals.  
  
I turned for the door. Tired. Exhausted. All I want is a pint of something and a low chair next to a dwarves table. Sleep there for a week maybe. Perhaps rent my own room. One thing to do first. Before I let myself go to oblivion.  
  
Mab boofed from his place by the fire as if to ask to come along. Finally calm after our reuniting. He'd nearly knocked me out earlier with how hard he slammed me to the floor.  
  
I patted my leg and he sprang up. No one would mug me tonight.  
  
The night was chill. Air heavy with the still present threat of rain. No stars in the sky. I trekked down the stairs legs alive with the dull ache of walking for far far too long.   
  
Torches flickered in the night air. Soon enough the metal man above the hanged mans door was in sight. Light streamed out into the darkness of the street as someone opened the door. Mab bounded ahead of me.  
  
I need to talk to Varric about a house in Hightown with my mother's maiden name.  
  
It's time I got  back the life my Mother had in Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the end of act one!
> 
> To anyone who was hoping Marian might have convinced Carver not to be a tit; I'm sorry.
> 
> And Whhaaaaaa. I got so many comments on the last chapter. I'm just really happy, Thanks for all the support!
> 
> It also dawned on me that the time of the battle of Ostagar is completely dependant on how you played Origins (at what point you went back to Ostagar in the dlc). Still like to hear peoples headcanons though!


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years pass.

  
**  
  
Carver Hawke  
  
  
**

He knows his brother won't understand. 

But it's not Garrett's choice this time.  
  
Garrett's not even here and he does not feel the slightest bit guilty.  
  
Nope.  
  
No guilt at all.  
  
He'd been waiting for acceptance into the trainees. Followed the woman claiming to be his sister around in his down time. They were jobs.  Just jobs.  
  
Not like following your brother around.  
  
Walking in a shadow all your life.  
  
That's not living.  
  
There was a new letter today. Sitting unopened on the desk. Uncle Gamlen complained about all the mail coming for his missing nephew.  
  
Missing.  
  
The letter was on crisp paper- and addressed to him.  
  
Carver Hawke. In neat uniform print.  
  
He was supposed to report for duty, and new armament, in a day.  
  
One more day till he's clad in steel and is doing something with his own life.  
  
One last day.  
  
 Marian said there was a job out on the coast she could use a hand with. Something to do with reports of highwaymen. Good bounties. Today. Wouldn't take long. Isabela would be along.  
  
It was a job.  
   
One last job.  
  
He would be back in time to report in.

* * *

  
  
**Garrett Hawke**  
  


This house is-  
  
big-  
  
Giant really.  
  
And I should also mention, a giant mess.  
  
Turns out slavers are as awful housekeepers as they are people.  
  
Running a finger along the banister of the stairs It came away with a thick layer of soot and dust. The windows were broken and boarded over, letting in only a trickle of daylight. Tiles coming up from the floor, shattered furniture scattered the room- It was all falling away to neglect.  
  
The whole house was in similar shape. Save the cellars, and they had their own special brand of awful to be dealt with, considering their former occupants.  
  
And it's all mine.  
  
"Everything you'd dreamed it be Hawke?" Varric stood at the threshold of the main room.  
  
"How long do you think it'll take?"  
  
He let out a low whistle.  
  
"House this size, hard to guess. I'd give it at least a year to deal with the structural issues and renovating. It's an old house. Will probably need a few updates."  
  
"Big project then." I pated the rail, sending dust motes whirling through streamers of light. "How about we head back to the hanged man. Talk about-"  
  
A loud creak sounded from above me. An old rusted chandelier shifted on its chain, sending flakes of rust and thick clots of dust down on my head. I side stepped from under the debris path. Back towards Varric and the door.  
  
"-budgeting and everything."  
  
"Yeah I wouldn't go calling this home just yet."  
  
We made our way out the door, locking it behind me. I heard a very load crash from within and sighed. This was going to be so much work. Work I'm not cut out for.  
  
Moving from town to town and house to house my whole life; Doable.  
  
Dark spawn; Sure.  
  
Hiding from templar scrutiny; A walk in the park.  
  
Odd jobs for coin; My bread and butter.  
  
Re-establishing my mother's place in this city; harder than I thought it would be. Getting the house back hadn't been so hard, mother had sent her letters. The Viscount had deemed it was rightfully ours- We just had to buy it back from the city, which was an ordeal all its own.  
  
Varric and I walked away headed back to the hanged man.  
  
That had just been spending money, signing documents. Now the hard part, was actually making this place livable again within my means. Which even with the expense of buying the place, I was still well off. That money however was in need of managing.  
  
Luckily I have a man with business sense on my side. Even if fixing up old mansions isn't exactly his forte. He'll at least keep me from getting screwed over or having the roof come down on my head.  
  
The staircase to Lowtown in sight.  
  
"Messer Hawke!" the voice was recognisable. Familiar- I turned on my heal.  
  
"Makers breath. Is that Bodahn?" Varric had tuned before me.  
  
"You're not an easy man to find! I owe you a dept Messer."

* * *

  
  
**Marian Hawke**  
  


There are pages upon pages written in my new journal and In my log book. They consist of my day to day activities.  
  
The raunchy details.  
  
My feelings.  
  
Everything I used to put in my old journal, the one on my desk.  
  
That may no longer exist.  
  
No we are not going down that path.  
  
The desk exists. I've seen it. And the journal I suppose.  
  
It's not my desk. It's not my Journal.  
  
They Exist back where I was. Back where I will get back too.  
  
There is one other thing I keep track of.  
  
I never had to keep tabs before.  
  
The lies.  
  
An entire made up past to justify my existence here.  
  
It's been a year since I found myself in a gutter in lowtown.  
  
I'm still no closer to figuring any of this out.  
  
I never got a letter back from the gallows.  
  
I need to visit the Dalish.  
  
Or find a way into the Gallows to visit the library. Or find another way to research magic concerning time.  
  
There has to be something.  
  
I'm going to figure this out.

* * *

  
  
**Fenris**  
  


Even though she has knitted herself snuggly into the rest of the group. She doesn't like him very much he suspects.  
  
She's polite. Says cursory words, looks at him when she speaks, when she knows the others are looking on, and then goes back to avoiding his gaze.  
  
Not that he's searching for hers. No. Her behaviour just seems odd.  
  
He's never done anything to deserve ire from this woman.  
  
There is no way Hawke is right about this being attraction. Isabela has no issue looking at his face, neither does Hawke for that matter. Even if he were to admit that their sense of beauty is not in fact skewed. That can't be her reason.  
  
No normal person has trouble simply looking at someone they find appealing.  
  
She herself is attractive. If he were to look at her that way. Less so in the way of Isabela, with her jaunting hips and curves, but toned. Fine muscle hidden beneath layers of armour. Seen in the ease with which she draws a bow. Rivalling Isabela in her skill with daggers, what she lacks in grace she makes up for in the power behind her blows. it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if she could wield a greatsword with some skill.  
  
Aveline made a similar comment once. While they were at a game of cards at the hanged man.  
  
Marian laughed.

Her laugh is charming and infectious. She has a presence that demands attention. Even when it seems she does not seek it-  
  
The same things could be said of Hawke though.  
  
It must be a family trait. One that skipped the younger brother-  
  
Occasionally he thinks he catches her looking his way. Eyes on him across the table during card games, when no one else's attention is on her. Sidelong glances during battle when he's too preoccupied to really see.  
  
He's found an arrow or a dagger in the back of more than one enemy he's been up against.  
  
It is nothing he could place past coincidence, because when he looks back she's not looking.  
  
He's imagining it.  
  
She dislikes him. That's all it is.  
  
He can't help wondering why.

* * *

  
  
**Anders  
  
**

  
She visit's often. Checks up on him and his patients. Inquires about how the clinics supplies are doing, offering to pay for things. Hawke does that too- but he's been busy with the final stages of making a dusty house in Hightown liveable lately.  
  
She's likeable.  
  
She's nearly as charming as Hawke.  
  
Nearly.  
  
Then there's that other thing. That not so little _voice_ of caution warning him that there was something- off, about her during that first meeting. He'd felt it in the part of him that used to be justice. Like the feeling of waking from the fade, lingering around her-  
  
It had passed before the lift clanked to a halt in dark town, before his magic ever touched her. Any trace lost in the mix of urgency and _Hawke,_ if it was ever there at all _._ When he healed her, there was nothing of the fade in her. It had just been a feeling, and a feeling wasn't enough to go off of.    
  
"Do you think I could borrow some of these?" Marians voice carried from the back of the room, where she tapped the cover of a book that sat on top of a box in the back of the clinic.  
  
Anders looked up from his patients ankle. He mouthed for her to wait a moment and she nodded.  
  
The little girl had gone over on it days ago and the swelling had been bad. She thought she could 'tough it out,' she'd said. She couldn't be over nine years old.  
  
 It had been easy to heal, but in the process he had discovered how malnourished she was  and had convinced her to stay overnight at the clinic to make sure she ate.  
  
Little was being done for the children here without families. Especially those who came over during the blight. Over two years ago now, and nothing. Nothing from the Viscount. Nothing from the Chantry. No real effort to help the refugees at all.  
  
He squashed down the anger. No waking justice and scaring a child.  
  
Instead he sent another light wave of healing magic into the little girls ankle.  
  
"You should be okay now. Do you want to try putting some weight on it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He busied himself with helping her to her feet and when she was fine on the leg he left her to her own cautious testing of the joint and made his way to Marian. She sat atop the crate kicking her feet book in hand.  
  
"Got a wobbly table or something?" That earned him a snort.  
  
"A little light reading actually. I'm taking up a scholarly interest in magic. Which in this city means having my letters about visiting the gallows library ignored for months." She tapped the cover of the book. "Then when I finally get a reply it's to tell me the books are not open to the public."  
  
"You do know how boring these are right?" He took the book from her hands. An old volume cracking along the spine, on spirit magic. Discouraged in most circles for the dangers involved. Anders had stolen it before he escaped the Ferelden circle. Though spirit healing had come rather naturally too him and he'd learned more in practice than in reading. "ot to mention I'm not sure how well a non mage would understand the-  
  
"I've had my beginners mage courses. Don't worry about me. Do you happen to have more of these? On other schools?"  
  
"I do." He set the book down beside her, "You're really serious about this?"  
  
"Yeah." Her eyes drifted up to the rafters. "I mean, my Father was a mage, Garrett is, he had a sister who was..." She shook her head. "It's better to know these things for the future- Just in case, right?"  
  
"Oh. You aren't? Are you?"  
  
"No. NO!" She flushed and jumped up off the crate. "No. I really meant for the future. The distant future." She laughed. Breathy. "Me. Pregnant. Maker no. Ah about the other books?"  
  
"Yes. Sorry I have a few, not on all the schools but, books are heavy and not all of us can afford those things." He pointed to her bag.  
  
"Thanks Anders."

* * *

  
  
**Garrett Hawke  
**  


The house looks-  
  
Better.  
  
Liveable. In that frumpy high town kind of way. Which is leagues better than the Uncle Gamlen kind of way. Give me Ferelden fields any day.  
  
Though the workers still moving from room to room, clearing out unused materials and tools and bring in furniture say it's not quite there yet. Mother is admiring the decor in the main room. Tall peaked windows, new lush red curtains. This is her first time here since it's been almost done. I hadn't wanted her to come till it was entirely ready for us to move in but she had insisted. Even helped with directing work along with Bodahn. I wound up mostly observing, and lifting things when extra hands were needed.  
  
"It looks just like it used to." there was emotion in her voice. She shook herself. "My mother preferred violet however." She gestured at the curtains.  
  
"We can change-"  
  
"No." She looked between me and the curtains, "Red suits you, and it is your house now. Your grandmother would be proud to see what you've done here."  
  
I breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a pair of workers struggling to get a couch through the library door. I went to help.

* * *

  
  
**Isabela  
**  


"Varric tell Marian to stop being so boring." Isabela dropped her cards face down on the table top.  
  
"I've tried to tell her that I have better books to read than- that thing." He pointed at the huge tomb in the woman's lap. Marian sat cross legged in the dwarven chair under the light. Ignoring them. Or pretending to Isabela suspected,  "I've written some even."  
  
The woman had been at it for weeks now. A different book every week. Nothing wrong with a good book now and again. But that thing in her lap, was not a good book. It couldn't even constitute as reading really.  
  
Studying.  
  
Marian was studying.  
Where had the Marian she'd known for these last few years gone?  
  
She'd been replaced by this dull person wearing her skin.  
  
"Marian we have a card game to start. Drink." No response from the dark haired woman with the book. "Come with me to the rose and get your toes wet."  
  
Nothing.  
  
Isabela had given up on the idea of bedding the woman after the first few months of her being around. She wasn't interested in a little fun, that was entirely up to her. Not that she understood the sentiment.  
  
As fun and lovely as Marian normal was to be around it hadn't gone past Isabel's notice that she wasn't exactly coming into port at any docks. Marian's not disinterested in sex either. She'd gotten that out of her at one game a year ago.  
  
Isabela picked back up her cards. Marian sighed.  
  
"This is so tedious. How do mages do this." She slapped her hands against the pages.  
  
"Can I ask why you're still reading them then."  
  
"I'm the daughter of a mage. It's possible. That in the distant far off future, I could have children who end up being mages. That and a little genuine curiosity." She waved a hand at the words in front of her, "It's just all written so blandly. My only consolation is that Anders drew cats in the margins every few pages. Makes me feel like I'm not alone in this void of words."  
  
" Marian as a Mom?" Isabela tapped the table.  
  
"Well I mean it's not something I've ever really thought about-"  
  
"That would mean you actually see yourself having sex in the future. I'm so glad to hear it."  
  
Marian closed her book  and dropped it to the table.  
  
"If it's not the immediate future you're worried about, why the books now?" Varric asked. Marian rubbed her eyes.  
  
"I do have some curiosity of my own, like I said." There was a tap on the doorframe. Hawke stood there, "It doesn't seem like I'm going to get any more reading done tonight anyway. Evening Garrett."  
  
"Hawke! How's the move into the frumpy side of town coming."  
  
"Easy enough, considering it's just my Mother, a stack of letters, and a dog."  
  
Hawke took a seat next to Varric at the head of the table.  Marian was in his old seat but she had claimed it and he hadn't said anything about that. The pair like to dance around each other as if the other will break if they sneeze the wrong way. It's about time they got over the whole half sibling deal.  
  
The game continued as rest of the party arrived within the hour, when Fenris got Marian said hello but didn't look his way just kept her eyes on her cards.  
  
It's about time Marian got over whatever that is too Isabela thinks.  
  
Then card game really got underway.

* * *

  
  
**Garrett Hawke  
**  


The letter was from Viscount Dumar. Written _by_ Viscount Dumar.  
  
The Viscount wants me to come to the Keep.  
  
Urgent business.  
  
The Viscount has Urgent business with me?  
  
No other information.  
  
I sighed.  
  
This can't be anything good can it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver drable is before the last chapter but I wanted to include it. So this an intermittent chapter so multiple POV, clearly labelled, unlike when a pov is on it's own and I want you to figure it out. There isn't really anything significant between Act 1 and 2 other than Marian becoming increasingly frustrated, so it was a good chance to get a feel for other characters.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy. I also hit 100 kudos and 1000 veiws on this fic with the last chapter!!! Which was a personal milestone for me!!! So thanks so much for all the support and again for all the nice comments. Especially to those who keep coming back every chapter, you guys are a huge motivator.


	9. She's One Hell Of An Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Hawke watching.

"Poisonous hallucinogenic gas!" Bianca sung in his arms as another bolt caught fabric, and maybe a little shoulder, pinning  another enemy to the wall. He lashed out with the rake in his hands, kicking and screaming as he strained against the clothing and bolts pinning him down.  "Overkill even for the Qunari don't you think?"  
  
This entire endeavour was absolutely mad.  
  
"Yeah." Hawke took in a short breath. "Maybe not so much talking while we're inhaling the gas." Hawke called back from over his shoulder where he wrangled with a woman brandishing a kitchen knife. Twirling his staff to deflect the blows as frost rose in the air around him. The woman slipped in the ice and Hawke was quick to restrain her and kick the knife out of reach.  
  
"What? I want to get in one last good line while we're still here. It would be just our luck for something like "died breathing in toxic fumes in a dank ally in Lowtown" to be the end to this story. Wouldn't want to see you go out like that Hawke."  
  
"I appreciate the sentiment Varric." Hawke rose to his feet as another group came struggling and screaming from down the road. Varric loaded another bolt.  
  
"That's me! The touchy feely one." He sent the bolt into the foot of an oncoming woman in a night dress armed with a cracked old hunting bow. She sprawled to the cobblestone howling.  
  
"You know this would go much faster if we just  killed them. Or you know- if you'd brought Anders. The real healer. To keep us from being effected by all this- " Isabela coughed.  
  
"She has a point." Fenris clocked a well equipped person  with the pommel of his sword sending them sprawling, armour clanging. They did not get up.  
  
Isabela tossed a smoke bomb into the group then dove into the fray.  
  
"No. They're just people. We can't."  
  
If the streets weren't infested with gangs and miscreants on a normal basis. This might be a piece of cake- but every other person has found themselves with more than just a rake or a kitchen knife.   
  
Hawkes got one of those soft hearts though. Sucker for the downtrodden. Even if some of the current downtrodden were more likely people who would have tried to kill us anyway.  
  
"Not even the ones fully armed and armored?" Isabela dived away from her dissipating smoke. One such bandit still left standing in her wake. Varric was inclined to agree here. Some of  these guys looked an awful lot like members of the current gang they were trying to uproot. If the insignia was any indication- they would probably be trying to kill Hawke again in a week.  
  
The man charged towards Hawke. Isabela was distracted by a new pair of townspeople making their way out of the mouth of an ally.   
  
"Hawke!" Varric turned his attention, and Bianca, on the Man. His bolt caught almost harmlessly in the flesh of his arm.  
  
"It might be easy for you all to differentiate. But ugh-" The man slammed into Hawke. Twin blades caught against the wood of his staff. Raised just in time. Varric didn't  have a clear shot-   
  
Electricity cracked down the staff and grunting Hawke threw the man off. The man collapsed to the ground shaking. "If I'm keeping my spells non lethal. They need to stay non lethal."  
  
Varric nodded and could hear grunts of assent from both Isabela and Fenris. Then turned his attention back to the fight, and looking for a way to shut off the blasted gas still sewing into the streets.  


* * *

  
  
The crowds were thinning. Either passed out, or pinned down. From the sounds of screaming and fighting in the distance they were not the last, but a break in the surge was on it's way. Hawke would have time to figure out these barrels. Varric figured there must be some people down here  who sprang this trap in the first place- He and Bianca were facing off against one of the few left standing, a man with a good bow and well worn medium armour.  
  
An arrow flew down from a rooftop. Pinning the leg of Varric's target, a high pitched whistle followed the arrow. The man looked up, along with the last of this wave of gassed townsfolk. Then another arrow took him between the eyes. So much for not killing-  
  
Whoever had fired jumped from the roof a story up, landing at a run. Half her faced covered by a cloth and a hood hid all but a swath of dark skin and a fringe of black hair around her golden eyes; already tearing up from the fumes. She slammed the pommel of her dagger into the back of a man's head as she made her way over knocking him out.   
  
The crowd was thinning some but they were all still busy. Marian, it was her, stopped by Varric.  
  
"I can see you didn't get the memo about not killing anyone today."  
  
"Not even the guys who dispersed the gas?" She shrugged and dropped to a knee by the body. "Ops. Sorry Garrett!"  She pulled a wrench out from the inside of the dead man's coat waving it at Hawke and his look of disproval, before she danced away towards the thick of the fumes spilling from an incredibly intricate industrial barrel.   
  
Always overkill with these Qunari. The wrench fit and the woman cranked the barrel closed.   
  
"Ahh- so that's how it's done." Varric walked towards the woman and the marginally safer air space.  
  
"Yeah we'll need to find the rest of the keys and their matching barrels though." Marian shrugged her shoulders at his questioning look. On more than one occasion this girl has known things.  
  
The way he sees it she's either very well versed in the secrets of this city or is secretly a blood mage who spends her time reading people's minds.   
  
Either way it's a little bit scary.   
  
Mostly intriguing. From a writers point of veiw- and maybe a little bit of trade interest too.  
  
So just how many of these key wrenches is Hawke going to need exactly?  
  
Before he could ask Marian disappeared down an alleyway. Returning with another wrench- and another group of screaming people with makeshift weapons at her heel.  
  
"Well that sure is a one of a kind sister you've gotten yourself there Hawke."   
  
The mage grunted and threw himself into the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short Chap! While I was working on the longer next chapter. I had a spur of the moment idea for including a bit of this quest and an actually decent bit of Varric pov, so I had to get it down and it happens to fit perfectly here without derailing the next chap because it's Varrics pov.
> 
> Sorry for the huge gap between chapters too lately I keep jumping ahead and wringing bits of future chapters, that I can't post yet, instead of the next chapter. So this fic is still being written consistently I'm just not organised-


	10. Three Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke holds on to thin strings, combats within herself. A bubble bursts.

I trailed my hand along his jaw. He leaned into the touch, just slightly, enough to tell me it was alright. His eyes still closed.   
  
I wasn't tired. I wanted to see him.   
  
Be here.  
  
Stay here.  
  
We were stretched out under the covers facing each other on his bed. The fire in the hearth behind me the only light in the room.  
  
"I missed you."  
  
"I have not gone anywhere Hawke." His eyes opened.  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
"Clarification would be appreciated."  
  
"How do I put it." I missed parts of him. Parts I was no longer privy too. The things that were different. The things I'd only had once.  
  
 I absently dropped my hand as I thought on the notion. He took it from where it fell, lacing nimble fingers through my own. For a moment, a very long moment. I lost my train of thought. I stared at my hand. Our hands. We're holding hands. I felt my cheeks flush.  
  
"Go on." I can see his smirk in the firelight. We just had sex. Hand holding shouldn't make me fumble like a teenager with her first crush.   
   
" Orleasean sweets ." I stared at the shock of bed tumbled white hair above his head. Ignoring his quizzical look. "When I was younger. Ah, seven or eight. It was when we were living just outside Denerim. I used to walk through the market with Mother. There was this girl who sold Orleasean sweets. Freshly baked. I'd never had them, and never had the money for them. I enjoyed the smell of it though." I rambled on, "Anyway, I would walk through the market and it would smell so nice on the days she was there. Like flowers and honey and spices I couldn't name. I liked that smell, it was my favorite part of going to the market.   
  
"One day when we were in the market again. Mother caught me staring at this pretty arrangement of treats at the stall. We left cause we had other shopping to do, and I guess she had coin to spare, or maybe it was because it was close to my name day. But when we were back home she gave me this little box and inside was an assortment of different fancy looking sweets. I shared them with everyone- They were absolutely delicious. I get them all the time now.  
  
"Back then though when we were in the market again, a while later. I would walk through the stalls and you would smell them like always, and I love that smell, it was my favorite thing- but even though you enjoy the smell you're thinking about what it tasted like. You know. I think that got away from me a little bit."   
  
I dropped my gaze to the mattress. That was silly.  
  
"I am an orleasean sweet?" He ran his thumb over the back of my hand. I peaked up at him. A nervous smirk eating at the corner of my mouth.  
  
"Like I said, imperfect analogy. You can only miss something once you've had it. I think once you've had it, some things that you once enjoyed change- Remind you of it. Are harder when they used to be easy- I didn't think we could get back what we had before, not totally really. I didn't know if this-" My hand gripped his a little tighter, "would work out. So I missed you, even though you were right here."  
  
I let out a breathy laugh. It was silly this was silly. I'm silly.  
  
"Then I missed you as well." his other hand caught my chin, gently raising me up to look at him. I'm not shy. Why am I acting shy.  
  
I'm afraid of losing this a second time. Of losing him at all. It's a pit dark and wide and looming. Say the wrong thing so the wrong thing- It would have been okay if this didn't work out. I would need him anyway. Friends or lovers? Friends would be okay awkward but okay.  
  
I can live with awkward.  
  
"Or maybe I would have been okay just to have you with me, even if it was awkward, maybe with time we could have grown back into what we were without the romance to muddle things up."  
  
"No." He released my chin.  
  
"You don't think we could have been just friends again?" It was my turn to catch his gaze. I detangled our hands retuning mine to his jaw. This is counter to the point- but I leaned in my forehead against his.   
  
"Friends?"  
  
"You are infuriating." His eyes said something else.  
  
"Are we friends or not Fenris?"  
  
"Perhaps."  I could feel his smile more than see it before I pulled him to me, lips pressed firmly against his. Stealing any more words he might have said. He kissed back, drawing me into him. Hands falling beneath the covers to grab my waist and pull me up over him. Breaking the kiss, air escaped me in an almost gasp. I looked down at him, his hair a mess, a smile on his face.  
  
Friends or lovers?   
  
Both is better.  
  
Three years was an awfully long time, but Maker was it worth the wait.

* * *

  
  
I woke in my bed. The familiar, airing on unpleasant, smell of ale in the air, sunlight peeking around the curtains. The vivid replay of the nights events fresh in my mind. I could feel Fenris next to me-  
  
I rolled over to find the other side of my bed empty. Like being kicked in the gut. Again-   
  
Again and again I keep letting myself-  
  
The smell of ale and old wood, does not permeate home, or the room in Fenris mansion, here though? Of course my bed would be empty.  
  
It didn't happen yesterday.   
  
Why do I always feel like it did?  
  
It happened years ago, and that Fenris doesn't- isn't, even here.  
  
I slumped back to the mattress. I'm in my room. Hanged man.  
  
It was just a dream. A lovely and terrible dream given to me by the fade. Thank you awful spirit plane.   
  
Longing, a void I can sink into washed over me, along with the hot ache of that other kind of longing. The more frustrated kind, which I quieted with my fingers before throwing the covers off.   
  
I've been here for three years today.   
  
This day is going to be different though. Today Garrett Hawke is taking a trip out to the Dalish camp for Merrill.  
  
I rolled over. Sighing into my bed sheets.   
  
Soon.  
  
I need to see the Keeper. She will know more than my books and she won't Ignore me like Orsino.  
  
Merrill. That mirror. The keeper.  
  
Don't dwell on it.  
  
I can't keep throwing myself at things here.  
  
It doesn't really matter. It won't really matter. Not really.  
  
I staggered from bed.   
  
First to my bedside table to wash my hands. Lathering them in soap in the tepid water of the basin.   
  
This room is my own now. I cleaned. Brought in more furniture. A wardrobe against the left wall, anouther chest, by the door, a more comfortable chair. Moved everything. Filled the space with memories in the form of things to keep me from getting lost. The bed is under the one high window, now sporting curtains to keep out the light and prying eyes. Plush carpets on the floor, to cover the worst of the stains, dyed wool, various reds.  Tombs, containing nothing especially useful, line the corner shelf- a few I need to return to Anders. The desk has for once in it's life been used for something other than a sitting place for empty bottles, my journal locked in it's one drawer, more books on its surface.   
  
Along with a potted embrium plant. A belated home warming gift, I won it, from Varric a year and a half ago. Red petals with glowing fiery centers, the blooms useful in several potions. Gifted after I drunkenly expressed my love for red flowers at a game of wicked grace.  
  
I made my way to the tub, dropping my robe and stepping into the chilled water. Wake myself up. I scrubbed quickly.  
  
If I'm ever going to be welcome amongst the dales. This is my chance. I need the Keepers knowledge. Old magic. Magic unknown to the restricted circle mages. The keeper will have it. So I have to present myself as one of Garrett's companions. Which I guess isn't entirely a lie.   
  
While his jobs were fewer in the last three years. With the house in Hightown- I remember it being the same. Not exactly- but close enough to my own experience.   
  
He hadn't gone out to Sundermount, which I should have expected, in years.  
  
I've gone on a few odd jobs with him and a team of our companions. Usually with Isabela.  I've been along with everyone else as well. I'd like to think I'm passing just fine. That no one suspects a thing. That I'm fine-  
  
Chilled water dripped to the floor. Beading off my skin as I pulled my towel down from its hook.  
  
I'm fine.  
  
I can keep up.  
  
I won't be here much longer.  
  
Today I find a way to go home.  
  


* * *

  
I stood in front of the door in hightown, alcoved just off the street leading to the Viscounts keep. Rich dark wood in a solid stone frame, vines creeping up the brick at both sides, white flowers closing in the encroaching sunlight. Above a shield polished to a sheen. Combatant griffons in intricate knot work, the Amell crest adopted by us Hawkes. Fitting considering the imagery.   
  
This is a bad idea. Mother might be out at this hour. Usually. but-  
  
Garrett hadn't exactly invited me along today, so it's not like I know for certain that she isn't here.  
  
We're careful about that. Even if we don't say it in so many words.  
  
She knows about me. I heard through the vine exactly how much she tore into Garrett the night he told her about me. About the bastard. About Fathers "lies". I can tell even from the distance I've kept that it's still a sore subject.  
  
One I directly caused whether you fancy the lie or the truth.  
  
Mother was never one to forgive easily. Or forget. She does not like my lie. Or me. At all. So I have not seen her much. Avoided really. Better that, I suppose, than dead.  
  
 Oh maker-  
  
Don't.  
  
Shaking my head I turned from the door and made my way from the entryway around the side of the house. There are other ways in. I can check if she's here first, then use the front door to talk to Garrett.   
  
Houses here are sort of sprawling. Old architecture in an old city. The Amell estate stretches across a good portion of hightown actually.   
  
In truth the hallways bridge over roads, buildings that you think are disconnected are all part of the one house, walls butting up against other manses, and the basement and sellers go all the way down to the under city.   
  
Despite the main building making it appear small. It takes no time at all to walk around it on the street and make my way into a narrow, and getting narrower, alleyway between another part of the manse where it nearly buts up against a neighboring building.   
  
A little bit of my rebelling teenager stuck with me in my first few years here. I learned how to sneak in, and sneak back out of this house without mothers notice.  
  
When I was in far enough and at a narrow enough point, not too narrow, I slipped off my boots and put them back in my bag. Then I made my way up between the walls. Like a kid shimmying up a doorframe when they realise their legs are just long enough to touch the other side.   
  
The harder part is the roof. Steep. Easy to slip and fall back down the three stories I just climbed. Sure I could have found a servants door, or gone in the darktown way. This is familiar though. The best choice? Certainly not, but thats why I took off my boots. Maybe I wanted to go this way just once. Go back here just once, and this is just a convenient excuse.  
  
Heaving myself up onto the incline. I inched my way using  hands, feet  and knees to crawl up and over onto a more level part of the roof. Then it's just a hop skip and a carful shimmy to my window balcony.  
  
I dropped onto the smooth cool stone, quickly checking that the window and curtains are unopened behind me. From here I can see the sprawl of the whole city down to the docks so far below. Not the best view. Especially when you start feeling responsible for the whole thing-  
  
From up here, right now, the city looks the same as ever. None of the little reminders that this is not my Kirkwall. I leaned on the rail. Just for a second, before turning to get in the house.   
  
I shimmed my trap blade between the closed doors of the window, flipping the latch. I eased one panel open- hinges well oiled, and peeked around the curtain.   
  
The room was empty. The door open. Conversation trailing up from the floor below.   
  
_Welcome home Hawke._  
  
My room- Garretts- is largely the same as I would have kept it. A little less clutter. Same dog hair on the bed sheets. In one corner my desk,  I made my way over, his journal open on its surface. I've only seen it from outside the door before on the rare occasions I've been here with everyone. When Garretts sure his mother will not be here.  
  
 Garretts writing is a shade neater than my own. His last entry about the incident with the Qunari and the saar-qamekand his rising fear of conflict between the Qunari and the rest of the city. Along with a note about me. The words _frustratingly vague_ catching my eye.  
  
Smirking I turned away and padded to the door. Silent on bare feet. I leaned out and strained to hear the snatches of conversation on the level below. Bodhan's cheerful voice- and Mothers-  
  
I held my breath. My stomach clenched at the sound.  
  
"-Well I can't wait for him any longer, or I'll be late again, and it's the De Launcets hosting this time and their all for being prim, proper and _competitive_ about these things-" Mother sighed, "Tell my Son to be careful out on that awful mountain when he gets here with his friends, and if he comes back looking like he did last time-" She sighed again. "Tell him to be careful."  
  
"I will be sure to Messere. Have a good lunch."  
  
"It certainly won't be dull." There was a note of cheer in her voice at that. Mother always loved being part of the game. I listened to the clack of heals on tile and the light closing of the door before I moved back into Garrets room. Ignoring the stinging in my eyes. Good thing I hadn't decided to just come in. That might have been hard.  
  
I took a deep breath and made my way back to the window and out into the air, wiping at my eyes as I went. I closed the curtain and window behind me watching as the latch fell securely in place. The air was hot, only a light breeze sweeping over the city. Smelling of salt. For once a clear day in Kirckwall.  
  
I left the window and made my way from rail to roof- nearly slipping back on the sharp incline- Then eased myself back into the gap between the walls. Back against one, feet planted on the other, I shimmed my way down. Sweating by the time I reached the ground. I slumped to the ground and let the tension ease out of me. The cool stone was nice on my bare feet.   
  
Enough, no more time to stay slumped in alleyways. Up and onward. Back to the front door of the mansion.   
  
I made my way in. The heavy door swinging smooth on it's hinges.  
  
"The Hawkes are out at the moment-"  
  
"Good morning Bodhan, Garrett's not home?" My voice carried from the entryway into the main hall.   
  
"Messere Hawke is out at the moment yes. Mistress Leandra has just left-" He rounded the corner catching sight of who I was. A brief pause in his sentence, "as well. Oh Marrian. Good to see you Serah. Is there anything I can do for you? A message for your brother?" He paused again before adding "The mistress has just gone out for an event and won't be back till evening." He gave me a sympathetic look.   
  
I smiled.  
  
"Thank you, but I'd like to speak to him myself, If I could. Will he be back soon?"  
  
"He's gone out to ask Aveline along on his Sundermount trip, he should be in soon if you would like to wait."  
  
"Would it be alright if I went up to the library?" I pointed to the balcony above. Bodhan nodded, returning to his post as I made my way into the main hall, greeting Sandal, and on into the library. A bit of an extra precaution. If I sit up here I can see anyone who comes in before they see me. Just in case Mother decides to come home.  
  
I sat at the corner desk and waited. Eventually I moved my perch to the rail. Legs hanging over the edge. If the door opened I would still be out of view behind it.  
  
It's strange, being here. Home. When it's not home at all.  
  
The door swung open. I could here two people talking. But neither were the first in the door. I starred down at a petit dark haired elf. Then the dog barged through headed straight to his usual spot-  he stopped dead, huffed at the air. His head swung my way, tinny tail a flutter. A low happy boof escaping his jowls.  
  
Merrill followed his gaze. And she gave a little hop and a gasp.  
  
"Marian!" Her eyes fell to my feet. "You're not wearing shoes."   
  
"Oh yeah-" I held a foot aloft, "I was breaking into a house."   
  
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Aveline came through the door followed closely by Garrett. Both gave me a look. I wiggled my bare toes.  
  
"Don't worry I didn't do anything nefarious or arrest worthy. Just wanted to catch a glimpse at who was home."   
  
"Don't tell me anything else!" Aveline hands nearly came to her ears.   
  
I laughed. Aveline and I don't have the relationship here that we really do. She's a long lost sister to me. But here I'm like- Like another Isabela.  
  
"I don't understand why you wear shoes in the first place. It makes your feet all smooched and uncomfortable." Merril looked at her own feet. Immaculate enamel on her toenails.  
  
" I kind of like the no shoes thing too. Especially helpful for not falling off roofs. "  
  
"So was anyone home? In the house you broke into I mean."  
  
"No, no one was home."  
  
"Marrian." Avaline levelled me with a glare.  
  
"I didn't do or take anything really, I promise."  
  
"Did you need something?" Garrett stood awkwardly. Uncomfortable with the circumstance. With me being here when he's not here to make sure there are no confrontations. He won't say as much. But it's the obvious dance we have going. Avoid and let it pass by. Maybe she'll forget about it eventually.  
  
Sorry.  
  
It won't have to keep up for much longer.  
  
"Your mother left before I got here. Don't worry."   
  
"Oh." He said.  
  
He looked a bit stricken. Eyebrows pinched together. A look dad used to get. I sighed.  
  
"Actually I came here for an invitation."  
  
"Invitation?"  
  
"Your trip to Sundermount. I'm terribly curious about the Dalish. I'd like to speak with the Keeper while were there if I can- I mean unless you need someone else along."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me that you want to know about the Dalish? They aren't very welcoming of Humans, which you know that already. If you want to ask something, you could always ask me." Merrill spurred on excitedly. Nervously so.  
  
She has a lots ahead of her today.  
  
I bit my lip and turned on the rail back into the library. A knot of what if's tying in my gut-  
  
"I understand. I'd like to come all the same."  
  
I stood up and made my way back through the books.   
  
"I was going to bring Anders." Garrett's voice carried even when muttering. I could picture the sulk on his face. Almost like Carver.  
  
"I think he'll live." I called back, and made my way out of the library.    


* * *

  
  
We set our camp low on the mountain an hour's walk from the Dalish camp. To sate my "curiosity" Merrill told Stories about the Elvhen gods as the fire roared between us. Garratt asked more questions than I did.  Don't get me wrong. I am interested. Truly. I could listen to Merrill talk for hours. I've heard her tell these stories before, under different circumstances, _a different Merril_. That's why I'm here. Night fell. We slept.  
  
 Morning came and I was all nerves. I've netted myself in a corner and there is no way out but this. No there have to be other ways, other people- This is just the most convenient.  
  
I have looked extensively-    
  
Merrill. Chattering at Aveline's side. As nervous as me to ask the Keeper. To do something she believes in.  
  
Something that goes horribly wrong.   
  
I packed up my bedroll.  
  
Do something about it.  
  
It's not important. Just work on finding a way back.  
  
To say I'm upset with myself would be a lie. To say I don't feel guilt would be a lie.  
  
Par for the course. I am nothing but a liar these days.  
It doesn't matter.  
  
"We should head up for the camp. Right Merrill?" Garrett said as he was packing up his things. Our rations for the morning eaten. The fire put out.  
  
"Yes- Right- we should. Shouldn't we.  Oh I'm so nervous the keeper can be so-" She grumbled. Aveline patted her lightly on the shoulder.  
  
"You'll do fine. Just be assertive."  
  
"You don't understand she just won't listen to reason."  
  
"You can do this Merrill." Garrett looks so much like father it's unbelievable. "Come on. Youll have an hour on the raid to work up your nerves."  
  
"Alright. Let's do this."  


* * *

  
  
  
I hung back. Not stepping into Garrett and Merrill's conversation with Keeper Marethari. He didn't try to convince her otherwise. Or encourage her either. My road.  
  
How do I do this? How do I ask about this. How do I get what I need. I took a breath. I need to tell the truth here. I need to be me here.  
  
If I'm me here I can go home. No risk of consequence now.  
  
"So we're fighting a varterral. Can't say I really know what that is, exactly." Garrett led walked next to Merrill back to me.  
  
"Well their sort of like spiders. Very big, and sort of odd looking." Merrill traced the air. Trying to draw the beast from memory. "I've never seen one up close.  
  
"Long crooked bodies, longer legs. Five legs for walking. Two shorter arms up by its head. Look like they walked out of the stone itself. Very odd looking is right. A pain when they bring the roof down on you."   
  
Garrett blinked at me. Merrill looked thrilled. Aveline not so much. A look of frustration passing over her features as she realised she was likely to be the only close range fighter in the group. I could change that. I can always do daggers.  
  
"Oh you've seen one before? This shouldn't be too hard then should it. We should hurry and get this done."  
  
"Right." Garrett said.   
  
"Can you give me just a moment. I'll catch up."   
  
He gave me a quizzical look. Like he wanted to ask why.  
  
"I know you want to talk to the keeper, but maybe after would be better.  
  
"I know. I just need to tell her first."  
  
"Don't take too long."  
  
They headed up the path. Leisurely. In no hurry to fight something so daunting. I worked up my nerves. Pacing back to the camp. Getting eyes from several of the dales. How do I say it? Why haven't I thought how to say it. Ask about time magic. Ask about it. Ask if you can stay to speak with her after. Why would she help me? I'm not Hawke.  
  
"You look like you have something to ask. What is it child?" Marethari watched me already. Standing a few strides away. I took the last few steps.  
  
"Keeper, I know the Dalish cherish magic. I know you don't know me either but- I want to ask for your help concerning- ah, concerning a certain kind of magic. If you'll let me stay after Hawkes business here is done, I'd like to speak with you about it."  
  
"What sort of magic is this?" She looked reluctant. Kind but- I'm not Hawke.   
  
"It concerns time."  
  
"That seems an odd thing for someone like yourself to be curious about."  
  
"It's more than curiosity Keeper. Please."  
  
"Hawke has done much for this clan in taking Merrill in. Ours, and my own generosity does not extend far past him, it is not within the best interests of my clan to share our secrets with outsiders. You understand."  
  
"I know." Fine, no walls. No secrets. I lowered my voice, to avoid keen elf hearing. "There's a demon on this mountain isn't there? Sealed away during a war long ago. One that's trying to trick Merrill."  
  
"How do you? Did Merrill-"  
"No. She didn't admit anything to me about the mirror being corrupted and the demon that told her how to fix it. Not yet anyway. You haven't even met me before today but I know you."   
  
"You should catch up with your friends. They will need you in the fight-"  
  
" You may not believe me, it may be impossible to believe. I know I wouldn't believe it. But I know what you're trying to do for Merrill. I know she accepted help from the demon on this mountain, that she's trying to activate an eluvian to learn about your history, but the demon is trying to use her and the mirror to escape." I dropped my voice lower. "I know what it leads too. I know what you are willing to- what you did sacrifice for her. Keeper Marethari Hawke introduced me as his sister today didn't he? I'm not his sister. As impossible as it sounds- I am Hawke, just not the one this world knows."  
  
The keeper stood eyes wide. The breath she took in was long and slow.  
  
"I- I cannot say I believe you." Her eyes said she did- at least about Merril, and herself. "This sounds impossible as you said. Go aid your companions. Speak to me after it is done. I'll see what I can do for you."  
  
I nodded, and ran after Garrett and the others. Hope. This will work out. I can go home I just have to let the rest of today pass. 

* * *

  
  
  
Pol was going to run. Like he ran before. Even though Garret was trying harder to convince him otherwise. I wassn't going to do anything. I didn't even think of it- I don't have to do anything. This doesn't matter anymore. But even if I tell myself that. That this has already happened. That it's not really real here. That I don't have to. Don't need to-  
  
That it doesn't matter that I can change things-  
  
He ran.  
  
To the void with it. I can't try. I'll come up with a good excuse.   
  
I took off at a sprint right on his tail before anyone else moved, pulling my bow from my back and knocking an arrow. I wound the corner just in time to see him before he reached the bottom of the stair. I let the arrow fly.   
  
I'll avoid any accusations. It won't matter soon anyway what these people think of me. I won't have to dodge questions. or-  
  
It took him in the back of the calf close to the knee. He stumbled to his knees with a gasp of pain. I caught up and slammed him to the ground planting a knee and all my weight firmly on his back. Just around the bend was the varterral's cave. A sigh escaped my lips. Safe.  
  
Saved him.  
  
Good.  
  
Yeah.  
  
He struggled under me. Grumbling. Looking at the arrow in his leg. It's- Not so bad. Bleading a little, not gushing blood, so I didn't hit any arteries. He'll live.  
  
"Don't try to move kid. This is for your own good."  
  
"She's a monster!"  
  
"Yes scary, scary, Merrill the bloodmage with her flowers and oh so threatening demeanor. You know what's scarier than a blood mage. That thing you were about to run right into!" As if on cue the cave rumbled with its footsteps. "Alright," I let my voice get quiet, too close to the big monsters home, "I'm going to let you up before the varterral gets us both, and you're probably going to have trouble walking so I'm going to help you. We're going to walk right out of this cave. Right now. If you run again I will put an arrow in your other leg and I can't guarantee I'll be as good of a shot this time. Got it?"  
  
"Alright. Okay. Just don't let her near me."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Marian! What in the Makers name." Garrett came to a stop at the top stair. Looking down on us as I helped Pol to his feet. Aveline and Merrill caught up.  
  
"He was running towards the varterral! The thing that killed all those others! Which is better? Dead or injured?"   
  
"Pol!"Merrill was rushing down the steps.I gripped Pol's arm that hung over my shoulder as I suported part of his weight.   
  
"Other leg remember." Under my breath just for him to hear. "Sorry Merrill. I'm going to take him to the cave exit. He does not want you neat him. Garrett. Don't fight that thing without me."   
  
Not fighting it without me was going to be easy apparently as Garret chose to follow me. Aveline and Merrill not far behind. Which lead to Pol nervously checking over his shoulder as we headed back up to the cave exit.  
  
"Did you have to shoot him? You could have hit an artery. Or killed him."  
  
"Or I could have missed completely and he would have been crushed by the varterral back there. If you had an idea better than non lethal takedown I'm all ears."  
  
"I didn't know he would run. I didn't have time to come up with a better idea. You're just-" He gapped as he walked beside us, hunting for words,  "You're always so quick on the draw. Always ready for everything. It's kind of infuriating."   
  
"That's me. Infuriatingly prepared for anything."   
  
He sighed with a chuff of a laugh. The stress of the situation defusing some.  
  
"It was the right call. The Arrow."  
  
"You were right too. I could have hit an artery. If I had though- You are a mage. You could have healed it."  
  
"I probably should still do that."  
  
"You should tell Merrill and Aveline to hang back first." I looked between Pol  and Merrill then at Garrett. He nodded in understanding and fell back to the girls. I stopped with Pol leaning on my shoulder. Garrett caught up with us and sat the boy down at the bottom of the stairs leading in to this part of the cave.  
  
The arrow was stuck in the meat of his calf and garret had to drive it the rest of the way through to get it out. Which involved lots of muted cries and concerned looks from Merrill and my concerned looks down into the varterral cave below.  
  
By the time we reached the exit Pols wound was healed well enough for him to walk on his own. Given with a bit of a limp.  
  
Merrill was upset.  
  
Not as upset as she would have been.  
  
But she looked like she still felt guilty. Angry.  
  
We returned to the cave to fight the varterral.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
"We should head back." Garrett looked towards the path. Merrill kicked a stone.  
  
"You don't really want to stay and talk with her do you. I I don't want to stay here. I can't believe what she's saying about me to everone-"  
  
"It's alright Merrill. I'll be fine here on my own tonight. You guys can head back."  
  
Merrill puffed. Still angry with the keeper after everything that happened today. Garrett still gave her the Arulin'Holm. Aveline didn't like it.  
  
No one was happy with today.  
  
Accept me.  
  
I'm going to find a way back today.  
  
"You're sure?" Garrett asked me.  
  
"The Keeper has asked me to. I'm sure."  


* * *

  
  
The rest of the day turned into night, another day came and went. I told the keeper everything I could remember. She looked into ancient texts. Asked me questions. Read more.   
  
There are things I don't remember.  
  
The other Dalish kept their distance. But watched. Guarded. I saw Feynriel once when he came to speak with the Keeper. He didn't look well. Some day within the next month I think. He will need Garretts help-  
  
Another day passed. She tried to bring up the memories. She did other tests. I felt magic more than once. I showed her the scar form the blade. She Clicked her touge. Read deeper. Probed farther with her magic. Tried spirit healing.  
  
I had trouble sleeping that night. My dreams were nightmares, things were red.  
  
Another day of tests. Repeated explanations. The keeper found a book about magic concerning time. Old. Hard to decipher. Night fell. We sat by a fire. The stars overhead.  
  
"I believe you were touched by a spirit."  
  
"A demon you mean?"  
  
"I cannot say for certain. It's presence has long since left you. I only found whispers in the healing. Demons do not often tread so lightly, and briefly when given access to a mortal form."  
  
"What else can you tell me."  
  
"I'm afraid I have no news you wish to hear."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"I cannot find a means within my texts to send you back. If one exists at all. Time is a delicate thing. Perhaps if you were to repeat the circumstance of your travel. The spirit may return. The magic it must have taken- I do not advise it Hawke. To cross the veil as you must have. To have manipulated the past. Changed things in such a way. It cannot be without a price. Dangerous. Who knows what would change. If your time even exists. What it would mean for us-"  
  
"You mean if, only if, I remember how I got here, and made those events happen again would I have even the smallest chance of getting back where I'm from. But even then there's no way of being certain-"  
  
"I belive it is best to let go. See this as a second chance. A gift. You know what is to come, and can guide this world down the right path-"  
  
"A gift! This isn't a gift-"  
  
"You have suffered a great loss. Perhaps it is time to mourn that loss so you may move forward." No. I can't. I- The silence stretched. The fire cracked I could hear the whispers of guarding clan members. Marethari spoke again, "In your time. Merrill was well?"  
  
"She was finding her way again after losing everything. If that's what you mean by well."  
  
"Please. Do not try to change this. If her future is what I think, if her choice cannot be changed, that outcome is for the best of all of us."   
  
"Do you really believe _that_ is for the best Keeper? For your clan? For Merrill?" I couldn't keep my voice from rising. Anger seething between my teeth.  A focus for turmoil. The Dalish guards shifted uncomfortably where they stood just out of earshot. Eyes flashing in the night.  
  
"Hawke." I clenched my teeth. Lowered my voice.  
  
"You're both so stubborn and you'll both suffer because of it. If you really cared about her -"   
  
You'd tell her the truth.  
  
 I shook my head. Enough. My eyes stung. The world felt heavy. A blade weighted in my gut. I crossed the fade to a world changed in time. I-  
  
I-  
  
I've tried for so long.  
  
I've waited.  
  
Hoped.  
  
_A gift.  
  
_ I felt the sick need to laugh. Instead I sat in silence. Fuming. The fire crackled. The guards watching shuffled their feet.   
  
Enough.  
  
"If you can- Don't tell anyone who I am."  
  
"We both carry secrets. It would be unwise for either of us to share them." I stood. Pacing away from the fire. I stopped for a moment looking back over my shoulder at the little woman by the fire, her staff across her knees.  
  
"Ma serannas Keeper." She gave a nod. Her eyes sad.  
  
I walked away, reflective eyes followed me in the night.  
  
"Suledin Hawke." The Keepers words carried after me. I didn't look back. I kept going down the path in the dark. It doesn't matter. None of this matters. My eyes pricked.  
  
  
I stumbled on a stone in the path. I let myself fall.  
  
The tears came. A sob caught in my throat. I heard muttering behind me.  I only have to glance back to still see the camp. Fires casting shadows. I pawed at my eyes. Got to my feet. Just get a few hundred feet away. One foot falling in front of the other. I wrapped my arms around my chest. The world was dark and blurry.  
  
It's gone-  
  
Far enough away that no one will see.  
  
My life, my world, gone-  
  
Just keep going for a while longer.  
  
Keep going.  
  
Endure.  
  
  
Endure.

  
  
Endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOO AND THIS CHAPTER IS FINALLY HERE! HOPE YOU LIKE IT!
> 
> We're now into the "I wrote this chunk back when everything was still in one document and only 10k of drably nonsense" parts. I was also originally not going to have her save Pol, but then I just? I can't hurt Merrill? lmao. 
> 
> I'm no good with language but I figure one word usage isn't too likely to be misused so. Suledin=Endure, Ma serannas= My Thanks, May have been more appropriate to use; Mala suledin nadas=Now you must endure, but I didn't want to just copy paste a line *shrug*. Bless the wiki.


	11. Monsters Who Are Not Lions| Lambs Who Are Not Sheep|

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orana does not deserve this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter it is from Orana's POV and takes place just prior to the events of A Bitter Pill with all that that entails. Containing brief Blood magic, abuse, and torture. Please Check the end notes for more details.

"Has the last hunting party come back yet?"  
  
"No. I think it has Mistress Hadriana on edge."  
  
"Everything has her on edge. All for one damn elf-"  
  
"I wouldn't say that in front of her if I was you."  
  
She doesn't mean to overhear, The cavernous room is filled with screams, coming from down the hall, and the quiet muttering of the guards is better to listen to.  
  
They've been taking the other slaves. one at a time- The ones they take do not come back.  
  
The guards complain about the noise.  
  
There are so few of them left- she realises. Only five. Fear. Gut turning fear. If she runs she is dead. They killed the two who tried, then complained about the waste. Mistress doesn't like waste.  
  
If she stays she is dead.  So she shakes, even though you are not supposed to do that either.  
  
Stand strait, not too strait, hold still. Not seen not heard. Do everything you are told. It is the only way to stay alive Papa had told her so, many years ago. He knew how to be good. How to avoid the ire of the masters.  
  
She shakes. Papa's hand rests on her shoulder. Firm, but not soothing. He stands still, head bowed.  His eyes are sad and distant. She tries not to move. Not to cry.  
  
The other guards return with the Mistress. Her heals clack on the stone to announce her coming. It stinks of urine and fouler things in the corner where they are corralled. She does not come to close. Her eyes wander the group. A few try to hide behind others. It's pointless. Papas hand is tight on her shoulder. His eyes are wide.  
  
"That one." the mistress says. Orana blinks. The mistress's slim pale finger pointed at her. You always do what you are told.  
  
She takes a shuddering breath and steps forward.  
  
Papa pulls her back. She stumbles but keeps her feet. The mistress and her pointed finger are gone from her view for a moment. Only Papa's back, his head held high.  
  
Never defy them. Never try to look bigger than them. Be quiet and do exactly as you are told. Papa is taller than the mistress. Only a little. Only enough.  
  
" Not her." His voice cracks. "Please!"  
  
Orana wants to cry.  
  
 The mistress blinks twice, her lips curl back from her teeth, and her nose wrinkles like she's smelling something foul. She looks at the guard to her left.  A lash strikes out with a crack that makes Orana flinch.  Papa falls to his knees. Blood weeping from a gash on his face, his lip split. "Anyone but her. Please Mistress." The lash strikes again. This time the shoulder, tearing the old fabric of his tunic, the one she's mended time and time again. Leaving a bloodied welt. Orana went to her knees behind him, her hands coming up short of touching the wound. Not sure. The mistress is angry. Papa is hurt.  
  
"Papa-" Her voice is small. Barely a breath.  
  
 "Take me Mistress. Take me instead of her. Please." Papas voice is louder. Cutting her off. He rises from the stone like nothing is wrong. Blood seeping in the fabric of his shirt. The Mistresses face contorts, a smile spreading across her lips. Teeth perfectly white.  
  
"So rare to find a volunteer these days." Her head turns, deliberate, to the guard with the whip, "Mandon. I want them both. This one is much stronger than I thought."  
  
The mistress turns on her heel, robes spinning around her, shimmering silk spattered with gore.  
  
"No!" Mandon cracks him across the face with a gauntleted hand. Papa slumps to the floor again, only to have two guard drag him to his feet. Another pulling her up by the arm.  
  
"Come on girl. We don't want to keep Mistress Hadriana waiting."  
  
She followed.  Papa was quiet as he walked between the guards ahead. Papa. why did Papa do that? Why did he disobey the Mistress? She felt the tears on her face already, she tried to stop them, but they only fell all the harder. So they were paraded from the room and down a shot flight of stairs and into another room. Smaller a table at its center surrounded by other robed mages who were wiping down it's surface.  
  
Red on the wood and red on the cloths they held.  
  
 She didn't look but she could smell what it was. She tried not to find them- The bodies. They were there. In a heap in one corner. Tossed aside like rubbish. Dead, all dead.  
  
 The mistress spoke. Papa begged. Argued. They hit him again. Her guard held fast to her arm. So tight she could feel the bruises forming. The tears wouldn't stop. She felt sick. So sick.  
  
Then the mistress hit papa with a spell, and he slumped to the ground. She screamed, her guard covered her mouth.  
  
Papa was lifted and strapped to the table before he started to struggle again.  
  
The Mistress looked at her. Directly at her, and for a moment she forgot she shouldn't be doing that.  
  
"This is what dissent earns a slave." Hadriana pulled a long blade from her sleeve, "It's too bad you won't live long enough to learn from this his mistake." The mistress turned away. "Make sure she's watching."  
  
"No! Orana-" Papa's voice became  a scream as the mistress and the other mages knives found his skin.  
  
She knew terrible things were happening to the people they took. But she hoped.  Hoped they it wasn't real hoped they wouldn't hurt them. They were always good. She always did as she was told. Papa...  
  
Papa's screams filled the room. He's not the first. She doesn't want to look but the blood spills over the table. Flowing in rivets between crevices in the stone. The guard won't let her look away- The mistress is laughing as the blood swirls in the air. The power surrounding her-  
  
A shout- then a scream came from far away. Papa has stopped screaming. His wounds weeping on the table. There's more shouting. The mistress looks scared. So scared. Eyes as wide as Papa's had been. The guard has let go of her- She's on the ground- Her legs are jelly and she just can't get back up.  
  
"Mandon take Erwyn and bring me the other slaves. The rest of you with me."  
  
They leave in a flurry of robes and clanking of armor. She's still on the floor. She should be somewhere shouldn't she? Orana can't look at the mess on the table. She finds her feet, and goes back the way she came. She can hear fighting- outside she thinks. The mistress won't have to worry if the fighting is only outside. She will be safe and she won't be mad, she won't hurt Papa anymore-  
  
Back up the stairs, the room empty of the others. Guards remain- Too distracted closing off doors and talking in hushed tones beneath the shouting outside, drawing closer, voices echoing in the halls- to notice her. She finds the corner where they had been, where she had been standing with Papa and all the others. She becomes small. Disappears into the stone walls.   
  
The world goes on without her.

* * *

  
  
The new master is kind. The job has been easy. She often feels like she does nothing but stand to the side as things are done around her.  
  
Master Hawke  has only been back once in the three days since she arrived. He smiled and wished her a good day. Explained that he was hiring her as a servant, she will be paid. Said he would discuss things when he got back. The other servants are a pair of dwarves.  
  
The elder of the two, Bodahn Feddic, kind and grey haired, has tried to strike up conversations with her. She has never been sure quite what to say, but he fills the silence in the house with his cheerful voice. His boy is sweet. He gave her a stone that she wasn't quite sure what to do with. She has never had things- Never allowed things. She doesn't know if she can keep it- it makes her nervous. She'll give it to Master Hawke when he returns. For now it sits heavy in a pocket in her dress.  
  
The Mistress of the house has given her a few tasks. Mostly cleaning and cooking. Sweep when it looks like it needs sweeping. Prepare supper. Simple.  
  
She doesn't look happy about her being here. Unsmiling and direct. She is not unkind to her, no, but-  
  
She disapproves. Disapproval has never been good, Orana knows. So she's tries extra hard with every job. No mistakes. No mishaps.  
  
Today the Mistress has gone to a party escorted by Bodahn. Hawke is still away. Bodahn had mentioned that  Fenris, the elf who had been with them that day, had yet to return. That on top of another of Master Hawkes Friends- His half sister, the dwarf had whispered, was missing- though for even longer. It  had the master worried Bodahn said, when she had risked asking why he was so rarely here.  
  
They had gone out that day to look for the missing woman- but  they stumbled upon the salvers and found Orana instead. Or at least that's what she had gathered from the things she overheard.  
  
The house is empty this afternoon, but for her, sandal, and the dog. She was left to tidy. She's swept the entryway and the main room, and is making her way up the steps. She almost wishes she could do more than just sweep. The stone floors are in sore need of polishing, it would give her something to do other than think. No one has told her where the rest of the cleaning supplies are beyond the broom, dustpan and rags. She keeled down to sweep dust into the pan-  
  
There was a clatter from Master Hawkes bedroom and she froze on the stair looking at the closed door. Back down the stairs, the dog had raised  his head to snuff at the air before shaking and slumping back to the floor. Sandal was still at work with his metals and stones, humming slightly off key.  
  
No one should be in that room, but there were quiet sounds coming from inside. Someone trying not to make noise. With the broom gripped tight  she climbed the last stairs and slowly made her way to the door.  
  
Her heart was fluttering. The door is open a crack already. Holding her breath, with the handle of the broom she taps the door. The broom clacking lightly on the wood, and the door swings forward. Slowly. Quiet on its hinges.  
  
There's a person in the Masters room. Dark and dressed in red, but it's the daggers she sees first. Two. Blades bare in leather straps on the persons back. They face the desk.  
  
Orana squeaks. Then slaps her own hand over her mouth. Nearly drops the broom. The figure whips around, eyes wide with shock as they bump back into table and chair. Her hair is short, eyes gold brown, lids puffy.  
  
"Oh!" then "shit," and with a hushed breath the woman mutters "Orana."  
  
Orana grips the broom. So tight the old wood chafes. There is an intruder in the house. _Who knows her name_. An armed intruder. All Orana has is a broom. A silly little broom.  
  
The woman looks off towards the open windows the ones that go out onto the balcony by Master Hawkes bed.  
  
"You- You are not supposed to be in here. Master Hawke is not home." Her voice shakes. Orana raises the broom just slightly. Caught between fight and flight. Of course flight. Always flight.  
  
"Ah, I suppose this isn't the- traditional way one visits a house." The woman's voice is knotted with soothing charm, a lot like master Hawkes, and she smiles brightly. It looks a little tight around her eyes, forced. Forced smiles aren't good, they come with cruelty.  
  
Her eyes are puffy too, a little red in the corners. She has a bruise on her chin. She's been crying Orana realises.  
  
 "I'm not breaking in. I-" the woman stops. The smile falls away as she takes a step back from the desk and Orana and the broom between them. "Sorry. I'm Hawkes Sister. I know he's not home. I- I probably shouldn't be coming in through windows, but I'm not always welcome and I've been away for a while- Sorry if I startled you."  
  
"Master Hawkes sister?" The missing one. The half sister. Looking at her more closely. She does have his look- even on her darker face.  
  
"Yes, his half sister. Marian." The smile returns, more subdued.  
  
"You said you are not welcome here-" She can't get out the why. But the curiosity burns there. Master Hawke is worried enough about her to never be home-  
  
"It's an awkward relationship, not having the same mother and all."  
  
"Ah. Oh. So you sneak in the window?"  
  
"I check on them sometimes, today I'm just here to read something-" Her hand is steady and slow as she points to the desk to the right of the door. A wide leather book splayed on its surface.  
  
Orana nods.  
  
"You'll leave when you're done?" If she's not here to take anything- even if she isn't who she says she is. It's not like she can stop her either.  
  
"Back the way I came. I promise." She sounds as innocent as a child.  moves back to the desk and sits in the chair, smoothing down the open page of the book before pulling out a smaller leather bound volume from a pouch on her hip. She flips the pages.  
  
She thinks of Papa and wonders if maybe this woman with her red puffy eye's has lost something dear to her too.   
  
Her eyes must be puffy as well, but she hasn't bothered with a looking glass- even though there is one in every bedchamber. She turns for the door then stops.  
  
"Do you need anything?"  
  
"No Orana. Thank you."  
  
Orana gave another nod and went back to her sweeping. When that was done she returned to the open bedroom door. Marian still sat at the desk. Flipping pages in both books. A few times she jotted down a note.   
  
She's feels bold. Bolder than she has ever felt before. Though meekness creeps into her movements as she walks into the room with her broom still tight in her fingers. She starts at the far corner from the windows. Bristles of the broom swishing in rhythm on the floor.  
  
"What is that book?" the words creep out. You listen and you watch but you never ask things. Somhow, this woman with her weapons is far less intimidating than anyone she's met before.  
  
"A Journal." Her pen scratched across the paper of the smaller book.  
  
"Are those not meant to be private?" That would be too much. Presuming too far into this womanspatience.    
  
"I'm just getting my bearings." She taps the quill on the table. "I'm sure he won't mind- well not too much anyway." She glanced up from the book. Orana stuttered in her sweeping. "How is Garrett treating you?"  
  
She blinked at the question, fumbling with the handle of the broom. The derailment from Marians passive voice to one of deep concern more alarming than the sudden movement.  
  
"Master Hawke is kind."  
  
"He is paying you, right?"  
  
"Yes. He said he would be before he left."  
  
"That's good." She says,  a relived sigh slipping past her lips. Marians eye's wander the room, and settle by the fireplace. No fire in the hearth now.  
  
Orana feels she should build one. Moves to lean the broom against a wall.  "Can you play?"  
  
A lute stands next to the fireplace. Right beside the broom.  
  
"Yes, would you like me to?"  
  
"If you want to Orana."  
  
The house is awfully quiet.    
  
"I would." She takes up broom and lute and moved back out to the main hall. Broom back in the closet off the servants quarters. A chair fetched from her chambers, The sound will carry better in the main room, so she made herself a seat near the railing.  
  
The wood was worn and familiar in her hands. She had had a lute once. It wasn't really hers- but she played it. Even when she was not told to. Just for her and Papa. He would play too sometimes.  
  
 So she found a note. A tune familiar, one that felt like home and Papa and the good things she had before.  
  
It's better here she realises. She had never thought it was bad _before_. Everything had just been the way it was.  
  
This is better.  
  
She only wished Papa could have made it here too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who keeps coming back even though I take so damn long on these short chapters. I actually had most of this done right after the last chapter was released. Sat off of it for a bit. Then went back to finsh up the chapter and cringed at it cause? why? did I decided it was a good idea to write this awful part of the game down? I'm still mmmm not sure about it. Kind of hate it.
> 
> Notably, new tags are being added to my beginning notes at the start of this fic to relay that this fic now contains bloodmagic, abuse, torture and slavery. Not anything written in too much graphic detail but it is there.
> 
> For anyone skipping this chapter a summary will follow this sentence. 
> 
> The events prior to and during of A Bitter Pill take place. Hadriana is a piece of shit who deserves to die. Orana watches her father killed. Marian still is not back from the Dalish camp. Fenris has not yet returned after his exit at the end of a bitter pill. Garrett is worried. 
> 
> Chapter ends with Orana finding Marian in the house while it's empty (except for her the dog and Sandal)
> 
> It's likely relatively safe to read after the line break, as there is a jump from Orana being in the holding caves to working for Hawke, if you only want to avoid the blood magic/abuse/torture part. If anyone feels there are any-more content warnings I should add to this fic. Please tell me!


	12. Ghosts to Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkes worries come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing playlist (for anybody who wants to listen to the mucic that gives me SD inspiration)  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLmWcjG-z8XG3j86D1tqXG52gE080Pvjse

I feel like I haven't slept in days. Hunting with Varric over his contacts. Have you seen either A. An elf with white hair and strange markings leaving the city? Or B. A woman with dark short hair, dark skin, and eyes that  turn gold in the sun? Also leaving the city. No not together.  
  
I don't even think they have spoken more than a polite courtesy sentence to one another in three years.  
  
No one had seen either on any road or recent boat leaving port. I got a few cofused "weren't they last with you?"s. Before I took to searching myself.  
  
Futile fruitless effort.  
  
Varric insists I need to rest. Just for while. Just a nap. Then you can come back for a game at the hanged man to "take your mind off things."  
  
I can hear the music as soon as the door gives way to the foyer of the house. A strumming melody on a lute. Who?  
  
My eye's fall to an occupied bench to my left. Dark leather, spikes, metal claws resting on knees. An elf who's gaze lingers on the tile floor, The fringe of his white hair falling over his face .  
  
He looks up. I swore he was gone. Done with us. Running again. The gladness welling in me is fighting with how maddeningly upsetting losing two-  
  
Maker when did all these vagabonds become my family?  
  
"Fenris?"  
  
Then he is standing. Coming forward. Shoulders squared with what I can only read as determination.  
  
"I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana. You and I don't always see eye to eye, but that doesn't mean you deserved my anger. I owe you an apology."  
______________________________________________________  
  
"No doubt your right." His words are heavy with implication. He does need us.  
  
He's out the door before I can get another word in. The conversation done. This time though- it doesn't feel like he's leaving for good. He only needed space, now he's getting a little more.  
  
Maker is it easy to worry.  
  
Fenris is back.  
  
Now that only leaves Marian.  
  
She had promised she wasn't leaving. Well not really promised. Said with conviction, believable conviction-  
  
Then again, what do I really know about her?  
  
Her skills in battle. Willingness to tag along on my- quests. She's honest- Sometimes. Will answer questions- sometimes.  
  
Orana is playing a lute on the upper floor. She seems so lost in the song that she hasn't even flinched at my arrival -or my rather loud conversation with Fenris. I don't recognise the song.  
  
I was quick in walking past her- not to disturb the peace she seems to have found on the music she's playing.  
  
In my room I leave my staff by the door. My immediate jump to get out of the clothes I've been wearing for far longer than I should and into the bath. My fingers catching at the hem of my robes. Fashioned to not look so much like robes.  
  
Movement out of the corner off my eye. Magic flared under my skin.  
  
The light ruffling of paper. Dark hair so much like mine.  
  
Marian at my desk. A book open in her hand.  
  
Fight or flight recedes with the magic as relief takes their place. I stutter over what to say and land on.  
  
"How did you get in here?"  
  
"Window." The word is curt. She gestures towards the open floor to ceiling window by the bed. Rich red curtain fluttering lightly as air crept in.  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"I'll be out of your way in a moment, I just need to finish this part."  
  
Out of my way?  
  
My emotions flutter from anger to concern to confusion.  
  
Her tone is humourless where humour usually sparks behind most everything she says. Well when she's not being cryptic.  
  
I ceased the removal of my shirt and went to sit at the edge of my bed. Watching her as she flipped to the next page in her book.  
  
My journal.  
  
 I can't tell exactly where she is just by looking. Maybe our first year in Kirkwall if I had to guess.  
  
"Far be it from me to stop you."  
  
 Blatantly reading my journal.  
  
"You know all your friends read this right?" A light bit of a smile returning to her voice. Yeah- I'm very aware of that. Most of them are a little more coy about it though. Leaving notes in the margins. Conversations with each other under entries. Making edits. Never while I'm in the room.  
  
You were gone for nearly a week. So the first time I see you should defiantly be when I'm not looking for you. When you just happen to be in my house.  
  
Reading my private notes on my life.  
  
A small idea. The small reassurances.  
  
"So your just one of them then?"  
  
"Mmm." She didn't look up from the page she was on.  
  
"I mean. Are you one of them. My companions. My friends?" I chuffed out a light laugh less relived than I thought. She looked up abruptly. Her brows creased together. Then she just looked at me with my father's eyes, as if really acknowledging my presence in the room for the first time.  
  
"Am I? I never really thought about it. Well not like that." Well she bounced that right back at me. Like she always seems to do. Is she? I don't dislike her. Not really. Part of me wants to hate the woman.  
  
She's wormed her way into that spot in me that's reserved for family though. The worry spot.  
  
"You're my Sister.".  
  
"Sibling doesn't always equal friend." She reads me just a little too well I think.  
  
It's true though. Just look at me and Carver. He joined the templar's for crying out loud.  
  
"I know what you mean. Do you," I paused looking at her. Her face looked drained of colour everywhere but around her eyes. Red. Then her nose was back in my writing while occasionally looking back at a smaller leather bound book in her lap. Siblings. Carver, Bethany and Marian. The words rise in my throat. An un asked question. Family. Marian. "Do you have any other family?"  
  
Something I want to know. But don't. More unknowns.  
  
As many a thing we've asked her. I never asked this.  
  
She didn't speak for a moment. I watched her catch a breath. The red around her eyes was caught in them as well slightly bloodshot at closer inspection. Hardly noticeable.  
  
Had she been crying?  
  
"I did," Her words were heavy and seemed to be chosen with delicate care. "They're gone. I'd rather not talk about them."  
  
She looked very suddenly worn out, before she drew a hand over her face to rub her eyes, then the expression was gone. Setting my book back on my desk open to the most recent page as I usually kept it. Carefully scratching something down in her log book. That's what it probably was. I had one. Habit I picked up from my father, our father.  
  
Were they full siblings? More of my father's abandoned kids? I wanted to press before the sheer weight of what she said really hit.  
  
She's lost them, all her family. Her mother, Siblings, father. All gone. I can't imagine.  
  
Bethany weighs on my thoughts. An old still open wound.  
  
How is she so? held together?  
  
I stood up ready to, I don't know what really. If she were Bethany, or even Carver I would just hug her, let her say whatever she needs to into my shoulder.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it. If you need to. I'm here." Sometimes it helps.  
  
Sometimes it doesn't.  
  
 She stood up from the desk, shrugged her shoulders.  
  
"No. I think-  I'd rather get a drink." She said it with a sigh, and she rubbed her hand over her face again. "Want to join me?"  
  
"Of course." Any thought of changing and slipping into bed gone. Marian smiles. It's  a small reluctant smile, edged with grief.  
  
Something I brought down on her with one careless question. Just when she was back. Testing fate to send her off running again. I need to ask where she was when we get to the hanged man.  
  
Why she was gone for days.  
  
Why she looks like death has been sitting at her shoulder- even before I asked about her family.  
  
Questions and grief and guilt and worry. Always these things with Marian.  
  
It must run in the family.  
  
"I'll meet you at the door."  
  
"What?" But she's already spun on her toes and is off out the window. I barely have time to see where she goes. Up, via the rail and over the roof. Her footfalls are too soft to hear on the tiles above.  
  
 I'm glad she's not my enemy. If she didn't want me to hear her coming. I don't think I would.  
  
I take a quick pause to change clothes and return my staff to its holster.  
  
Marian is waiting outside the door in the midst of the  square like she's ready to disappear again. Vanish in the crowd.  
  
Probably in case Mother comes home. I hope.  
  
I give a wave and she walks up easy strides.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere." It sounds like a reassurance. Almost. Her words are still heavy. Her eyes are still red round the edges. Like maybe she had been crying.  
  
Worry mush have shown on my face.  
  
She smiles. Eyes gold in the sunshine.   
  
Maker is it easy to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> previous chapter, this chapter and the next chapter are all directly linked with just perspective swaps. like I would post it as one but I have made odd rules for myself (for some reason) about not having more than one pov per chap in this fic.
> 
> hopefully this chap is cohesive? half of it was written like when the fic was just a big drabble of ideas
> 
> pun tittle, also thought I would share my writing playlist though it sort of went from stumbling-drunk-songs to the songs-I-listened-to-while-crying-my-way-though-the-end-of-mass-effect so if the last couple on their feel more like mass effect than DA...
> 
> Enjoy. Love you guys!


	13. Liars Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke stands on a ledge. Or sits at a table. 
> 
> Maybe it's a proverbial ledge.

  
Stumbling Drunk Playlist  


* * *

I spent the days after the dalish camp in solitude. Wondering down the mountain. Off the beaten path. I might have screamed and I might have cried and thrown things. I might have sat and whimpered and moped in silence. I may have done all or none of those things.

  
Remote private space on an endless mountain. I thought about not coming back.

Truth be told getting drinks with myself wasn't the most appealing idea in the world. The drink I wanted. The company?  
  
Well-  
  
Escape was on my mind as I pulled myself up onto the slanted tiles of the roof. It would be so easy to just disappear in the shadows and run off back into the busy streets.  
  
The bitter idea buried itself deep.  
  
Go.  
  
Leave.  
  
Do not come back.  
  
I've never been one to let sadness- To let mourning weigh me down for too long. When mother died I chose solitude. The remoteness of my own private space. Process. Cope. Move forward. No need to bring others with me into it. Reasonably it was better to get passed it and go forward without it weighing me down.  
  
Too many outreaching effects, responsibilities to get back to. Before-  
  
Now I could just go. That's not on me now.  
  
I want to, It's hard enough doing this. Years spent looking at familiar faces and not- being me. My lifeline. My goal. Gone. I can't help wondering if it would be better to just leave. I have enough saved. I could go back to Ferelden or anywhere really.  
  
I've always been a goal oriented person. Without that? Can I face them? See them all and know that I won't ever.  
  
Enough.  
  
Garrett and his are not the friends I had, as much as they are the same people-  
  
It feels-  
  
Like a death.  
  
It's like they died. Maybe they have. I don't know. Sometimes I catch snatches of something. Words and images that feel connected. Promises and soot covered faces. If I try to force myself to remember, the farther I feel It slipping. Like I'm not allowed to know.  
  
Roof tiles slipped underfoot. I caught my balance. Enough. Falling off the roof is not the best idea.  
  
Regardless.  
  
I thought I left it all behind me on the mountain that I was ready-  
  
No wonder Garrett looked so genuinely concerned. I must look as good as I feel.  
  
That was still unexpected. In all my planning and memorizing. Wasted efforts and unsure motions. I hadn't really given him due credit.  
  
I look at him and see who I was. There's envy in that.  
  
Maker is there envy in that.  
  
I came to the gap between the house and the one adjacent. Down the narrow gap to the ally below. A pleasant ache working into my muscles after sitting for so long going over Garretts journal to-  
  
Reference events.  
  
It would be hard. Facing the world. My new made friends. This new found brother-  
  
I turned out into the square, waiting just out of immediate sight of the main door to the house. Just in case anyone but Garrett came out- or in.  
  
Would hate to cause a public scene. As much as I would like to see mother. She- Isn't exactly happy with me. We have an agreement there.  
  
The door swung open and Garrett stepped out- looking around. His robes were changed, less mage-looking now- with a staff still strapped to his back.  
  
Hes daring fate being a mage and walking in my shoes. So in front of everything.  
  
I stepped out of my dark corner away from escape. The setting sun filtering through the wisps of ever present cloud cover.  
  
His expression relaxed immediately when he caught sight of me. Guilt pricked at me for a moment. What would have happened if I had simply slipped away and not come back? I made my way over and he came my way. Smiling down at me where I was caught in his shadow. I smiled back.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere."  
  
He shook his head. Nodding.  
  
“Hanged man then?” He asked.  
  
I shook off the trepidation's and misery. Hanging about my head. Putting a smile in their place that I hoped looked genuine.  
  
“Where else?”

* * *

  
  
  
Truth: I was not aware of the exact date of the day.  
  
I thoroughly planned to find a table in the back of the tavern and get completely awfully drunk. Garret was just along for the ride.  
  
When we arrived, sun long lost behind the walls of the city, torchlight steaming out of the door to the hanged man, I did not expect Merrill to be at the bar with a platter of mugs on each arm. A small but familiar frown on her lips.  
  
My hand very nearly collided with my face. Of course I would come back today.  
  
From over Garrett's shoulder I can see Avaline standing at the top of the stairs. Looking down into the bar in her off hour clothes, still looking every inch captain of the guard. The subdued state of the tavern reflecting her presence.  
  
Garrett waved. Avaline raised a hand. Several people at the bar straitened their backs. Merrill turned and hopped on the spot with her trays sloshing droplets across the already filthy floor. She wove her way neatly around the crowded tables as on her way to Garrett.  
  
“Hawke! Varric said you went home and wouldn't be back for the game. I'm already doing terribly.” She flourished the drink trays. Garrett shrugged.  
  
“Couldn't stay away, besides,” he rolled a shoulder my way. The air rushed out of Merrill and her smile grew.  
  
“Oh Marian!” She looked like she wanted to do something with her hands. Impaired by her losing beverages she was left fidgeting.  
  
Wicked grace night rules. Losing hand gets the next round of drinks.  
  
“Marian your back!” She looked so relived. Garrett looked relived. At the top of the stairs Avaline looked- Like I was trouble. She turned back to Varrics suite. The bar visibly relaxed.  
  
I sighed.  
  
Now. No more moping about. It's out of the system. Done.  
  
One night with friends.  
  
One.  
  
I just have a drink and play one round of cards and retire to my own room down the hall. Easy.  
  
Garrett relived Merrill of one of her trays. She took the opportunity to grab my hand and lead me to the stairs. Garrett not far behind.  
  
Varrics suite was the same as it always is. The vast low table and its assortment of matching and non matching chairs. Crowded by familiar faces.  
  
Most of the chairs were filled. Or there occupants present. Varric was at the head of the table y the back wall. Hands raised in surrender. Isabela sat to the left of my chair under the wall sconce. Fenris at the opposite side nearest the door save the end seat. Anders was absent.  
  
I clenched my teeth. I can do this.  
  
I can.  
  
Merrill squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.  
  
“Oh so she just shows up after all Hawke went through looking for her and were not going to do anything about it? He was a mess.”  
  
“Avaline. Some things are delicate-” Varric intoned.  
  
“I know he hasn't been sleeping properly.” Avaline continued.  
  
“I was not a mess Avaline.”  
  
Isabela snorted. Cards flashing between her fingers as she shuffled them. Merrill squeezed my hand once more before letting go.  
  
“Big girl has a point. Last time I saw you sleeping it was at this table.”  
  
Avaline took her chair across from Isabela. Merrill plunked her tray down. Fenris absently plucked at the fringe of his hair. Cascade of white falling from metal claws as he stared at the table. No opinions from him on this then-  
  
Or maybe he feels partially responsible.  
  
It might be better if Anders was here. Maker knows when all of them are in a room together there's enough points of tension- maybe I could scrape by without so much scrutiny.  
  
“Passing out at the table does not count as sleep Isabela.” Avaline glared my way.  
  
“People sleep here all the time.” He levelled a glare Isabelas way. She cut the deck and tapped each end against the table.  
  
“So where was she?”  
  
“Lost.” I elbowed my was passed Garrett at the door. Lost was true enough.  
  
“What?” That was Garrett. I Slumped into my chair next to Isabela. His expression was cauught somewhere between concern and disbelief.  
  
“You were lost?” Avaline raised eyebrows.  
  
Isabela looked amused by the idea.  
  
I shrugged and took a mug, clearly intended for Isabela, from the tray.  
  
“It's a big moutian.” I lost sight of everyone over the the brim of the wide mug. I heard Garrett clack his tray to the table before dropping into his chair.  
  
“That's- Almost believable.” Varrics rolling tone carried over the room. “Though we might have gotten word from the Dalish of a woman stumbling about their mountain when Hawke insisted we send a bird.”  
  
“Oh they might not have seen her. Sundermount is pretty big.” Merrill trilled.  
  
“Almost sounds like your trying to accuse me of something.”  
  
“Wouldn't dream of it. Just looking for a better story twist than _bad sense of direction_ after all we did looking for you.” Varric shrugged and accepted a mug from across the table. No confrontation on his features just a raised brow and encouraging smile.  
  
I frowned into my stolen drink. Turning the mug to watch the last dregs of the beverage arc round the bottom.  
  
Why did it take me so long to come down from the mountain?  
  
Lost.  
  
Shit.  
  
I tried not to think about it.  
  
Damn it.  
  
I lost.  
  
I lost everything.  
  
The pain bubbled up my insides like a physical thing. For a moment my misery wanted to rear it's head again. Like when garret found me in his room. I strangled it down by shear force of will, burning in the back of my throat and around my eyes. I tried a smile. To think of a laughable absurd story to spin about my days away.  
  
I could hear Isabela cutting cards.  
  
I frowned deeper into my drink. Swallowed the last bit of the gross swill. When I looked up Fenris was looking right at me. I sighed and shook my head. Empty mug clanking on the table.  
  
Varric rapped his knuckle against the stone surface of the table cutting the silence.  
  
“Isabella are you going to deal those cards? Or are you just showing off that fancy shuffling?” Varrics voice cut us out of the pit I was digging.  
  
A collective breath was taken. Air returning to the room. No one pressed farther.  
  
I'm not hiding this well.  
  
“Oh?” She flourished the cards again, “You can't rush these things. Varric.”  
  
“We all know she's just giving yourself a chance to cheat.” The accusation came from Avaline.  
  
“I don't need to be the one shuffling the deck to cheat, big girl.”  
  
“Wouldn't it be a better idea to have the dealer be someone who won't try to stack the deck in their favour.” Garrett held out a hand for the cards.  
  
“Are you trying to imply that you don't cheat?” Fenris grabbed his drink from the tray.  
  
Garrett looked dramatically aghast at the other man.  
  
“Well that leaves Avaline then.” Trying for light and landing near enough that the mood didn't falter. I strained out of my literal slump in my chair.  
  
“I don't cheat either.” Merrill pipped in.  
  
“Fine one of our saints can deal us in.” Isabela rested the deck on the table and busied herself with getting one of her own drinks from the tray.  
  
Avaline took up the deck.  
  
“Everyone in this round?” We all gave out varied accent. She cut and dealt the cards.  
  
One game. A few drinks.  
  
I can do this.

* * *

  
  
  
Isabela won the first two rounds, I took the third, and Varric got the next two before Isabela wormed her way back to the top and complected a pot twice the size of the previous two combined.  
  
She's definitely cheating.  
  
Merril got drunk after two games and bet all she had on her on a decent enough hand in the fourth round. After the next Avaline called it a night for herself and, at a whispered request from Varric, escorted a giggling Merrill home.  
  
I was still in possession of all my faculties. Clear as day, for the most part anyway, despite my best laid plans of getting smashed and passing out alone in my room.  
  
Drinking alone I would have done just that. But my earlier emotional laps kept me on my toes, and relatively sober.  
  
Mostly buzzed. Relaxing in my chair. I gave a sigh and tossed down my terrible hand.  
  
“I have to fold. There's no hint this is going my way.” Losing my first significant bit of silver tonight. Damn.  
  
“Some players would call that cheating Marian. Not staying in till the Angel is drawn.” Isabella joked. Or maybe she was serious.  
  
“Mmm. You just want my coin.” I nursed my drink.  
  
“So what's it going to be Fenris. Man enough to see this through?” She cast a brilliant smile his way.  
  
He gave his cards a good look over. Calculated expressionless-ness.  
  
“I'm hardly fool enough to try and go up against both of you.” He set his cards down on the table. A single pair visible in his hand. Pirate and Dwarf eyed each other up. Probing for nonexistent tells.  
  
“Well I raise you twenty silver Rivainy.” Varric delt another card from the deck..  
  
“Oh that's better! I'll call.”  
  
Their game went on. I leaned back from the table to get a vantage pint of my former opponents hand. She had a monster of a hand to play.  
  
Cheating. No doubt about it.  
  
Maybe I've had more to drink than I thought but out of the corner of my eye. Fenris was staring at me. Or in this direction.  
  
“Good call.” I mouthed. Silent and hidden from view of the players to my left by my politely raised mug. Fenris blinked and nodded just slightly.  
  
Definitely on that edge. The don't drink anymore edge. Not my usual interaction with him these days-  
  
Garretts head hit the table with a muffled thump and stayed there. He had been in and out for the last while. Sleep must have finally won over.  
  
“He really hasn't been sleeping has he?”  
  
“You say that like your actually surprised!” Varric moved his cards around. “Our Hawke moves mountains for family. Or had you really not noticed?”  
  
Mouth open. Mouth closed. I looked at the hunched figure. Snoring lightly on the table.  
Isabela raised the pot.  
  
I can remember with absolute clarity the moment Fenris walked from the holding caves. The days I sent trying to find him. The dread of not knowing-  
  
Caring about people so completely they might as well be family.  
  
Are family.  
  
Shit.  
  
S _hit._  
  
“Shit.” That earned me a table wide glance. Or it probably did. I was looking at the man slouched on the table. Folded arms and a swath of black hair hiding his face. I rested my chin on my palms.  
  
Garrett Hawke. When I was here I was sure I had gone through the worst twice over-  
  
I brushed the hair out of his face.  
  
“Someone should get him home.” Half the table wasn't listening. Fenris didn't say much.  
  
“There it is.” The angel of death sat beside the deck.  
  
“What! No!” Clearly Isabela was hoping for a larger cash pool before the round was at an end.  
  
“The cards can't lie.”  
  
Varric fanned his cards down on the table. Isbella followed suit with a grin spreading across her lips as each card was revealed. Varric blinked and rubbed a hand across is stubble-less chin.  
  
“You got me, Rivaini. Swore I had you that time.”  
  
“Too bad you didn't jump ship with the rest of us Varric.” I tilted a head towards Isabela's winning cards.  
  
Bela pulled her new stack of silver towards herself depositing them into a ready coin purse. She shook the contents gingerly. Clinking the coins together. Her smile wormed wider.  
  
“Varric don't we have another bet to settle?”  
  
“Isabela.” Cautionary. Almost too Hawke-like from Varric.  
  
She waved a hand at the unconscious figure at the end of the table. “He's not exactly here to rein us in Varric. Marian a quick game?”  
  
“I'm done with cards for the-”  
  
“No, no our game. Come on.”  
I tapped the brim of my empty glass. This is a terrible idea. I know from the look on her face and just everything that this is a terrible idea.  
  
“You buying the drinks?”  
  
I have had too much to drink.  
  
It's going to come up again.  
  
Lost on a mountain.  
  
Sure.  
  
“No Varric is paying for this round.” She hefted her purse and slid back from the table. Flinching the empty drink tray on her way before she walked, hips swaying, from the room. All eyes, ours included, trailing in her wake.  
  
“So what am I in for Varric.”  
  
“Settling a terribly insensitive bet we had going for the last week. Considering earlier I thought she might let it drop but-”  
  
“Thought so.” Rules say I don't have to answer if I don't want to. “Must have bet a lot.”  
  
And here I was being berated for worrying garret when they were holding a betting pool behind his back on the turn of events.  
  
Thats- So like them.  
  
Isabela returned. Tray rocking with too many glasses. It clattered to the table with a good slosh of alcohol across stone. Garrett stirred slightly but didn't wake.  
  
“See we have this bet going on exactly _what_ you were _doing_ out at the dalish camp that took so long before I suppose you _got lost in the wilderness_.”  
  
“I'm hardly going to need this much to drink.”  
  
“Well I thought a group game would be fun. I figure we're all in the mood for being a little less sober. Aren't we?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan.” Good job mouth. I took a mug from the tray staring down into the contents. Whatever it was smelled strong. To say the least.  
  
Bela took a drink and her seat. Shifting another in Varrics direction.  
  
“So my rules. The usual. You decide if we're being to invasive. Questions asked. Answer or drink. If your question is answered you drink. Familiar to everyone? New rules for more players. Everybody who wants to hear the others answers has to play. You can ask more than one person the same question. If you ask a group question you have to drink for every answer you get.”  
  
“So Marian. Varric and I had a bet. I put my money on you having a secret tryst with your secret lover. All this magic books and Dalish business is just a front-”  
  
Fenris reached over and plucked a drink from the tray. I was left blinking. He was going to play too?  
He drinks true. But hes a wine drinker and hes not as proficient as the rouges at the table-  
  
And hes going to play?  
  
It was a surprise to say the least.  
  
“-this person must be too seedy a criminal to be seen in our _fine company._ Clearly didn't go as well as planned with your mood earlier. _”_ Slinging her tail like it was the absolute only possibility. Then waved a hand at Varric, droning, “Oh and he thinks you're secretly a blood mage and were off preforming some terrible blood ritual under a blood moon with blood. You know.”  
  
I blinked.  
  
“He argues that all those books and letters to the gallows must have been for some reason-”  
  
“Really?” He knew about the letters?  
  
“I didn't say anything about her- you being a blood mage.”  
  
“Well terrible rituals preformed dancing under the moon usually imply blood magic Varric. Your the writer you should know these things.”  
  
Orsino said something about rituals under the moon once-  
  
I saw fenris' half smile out of the corner of my eye. Amused then.  
  
Funny. It was kind of both wasn't it? Absurd as both ideas were- That absurdity is what's keeping me from rocking inwards.  
  
I rolled the glass in my hands. Distraction. Pondering.  
  
Drinking was the best option. But-  
  
A spark. A partial truth. Some understanding.  
  
“So is the question who's right? Well. You're both half right sort of. It's all a little less fantastic than all that though.” A genuine but well placed frown graced my lips. I sipped the awful in my glass. Because I needed it. Awful.  
  
Before Isabela could complain about me ducking out. I continued on.  
  
“I went to Keeper Marethari because I was curious about a bit of magic- As you know.” I eyed Varric. “Apparently civilians are not allowed in the gallows library to do research. That was all just a whim though. I get caught up in things. Complete the mission once you set out on it you know.” I rambled- “When- While I was with the Dalish. I received word from a contact of what happened to my former company. Companions. No friends- I've mentioned them before. My mercenary group.  
  
“I supose I should have known- Did know. I just. I hoped-” I felt my eyes betraying me. Too close to the truth. I didn't bring a hand up to rub them Hoping the definite sheen might go unnoticed. “I must have left them to die.” I found my hand resting over the scar from the mystery blade that I know remains under tunic and mail. A hands width across my abdomen. I can almost feel the shear sting. “I wish I could bloody remember it. That would have given me some concrete evidence beyond a vague feeling before now. Maker knows I've spent enough time chasing Ghosts.”  
  
I was staring at the ceiling. Trying to force down the damned tears. Words getting away from me. I brushed my cheek. Damn.  
  
“Shit. Well-” Varric stuttered off.  
  
“To your lost crew then.” Isabela raised her glass.  
  
I smiled a little smile. That was more honest than most things. Raising my glass in silence. The other two followed suit. To my lost life. And all those I left behind Dead and living alike. All gone. I downed the gross liquid.  
  
A sombre silence lingered after. Punctured only by Fenris' his of disgust at the fowl swill we were drinking and the clink of clay on stone.  
  
A small part of me thought. _My audience is hooked_.  


* * *

  
  
“That was rather melodramatic wasn't it?” Really brought down the mood. I clinked a nail on my seond empty mug.  
  
“Couldn't have written a more cliche tragic backstory if I tried. Ah consoling not one of my strong suits. You know, my doors always open-”  
  
“Humors a welcome change. I swear I thought I got all the moping out of my system wandering around Sundermount. I honestly was lost for a while there.”  
  
“Suppose I was the closest to the truth then?” Varric held out a hand to Isabela.  
  
“Your still going through with this bet?”  
  
“Hold it a second there Dwarf. She said we were both right.” Her hand fell to her purse.  
  
“I didn't hear anything about a tryst on the mountain Rivaini.”  
  
“Oh forgot to add that part did I?” I reached for a new beverage and taking a sip. “How much do you have on this insensitive bet anyway?”  
  
“I believe they were up to Sixteen Dragons before you and Hawke arrived.” Fenris eyed the pirate.  
“You got back here today too didn't you? Any outstanding bets on your whereabouts?”  
  
Hunting the coast for any remaining slavers. I know that.  
  
Fenris turned away and adjusted the clasps on his gauntlets.  
  
“Oh we settled that already.” Isbela waved it away, “Varric won won. He was out sticking his hand in people, but not in the fun way.”  
  
Fenris coughed.  
  
“Now who gets the pot when neither of you were even close to right?” I asked.  
  
“Marrian, you said and I quote, _you are both sort of right._ I would love some clerity on that.” She put on an accent to say it.  
  
“I don't sound anything like that.”  
  
“Irrelevant. Celerity on what you meant is the important part. Did one of the dalish give you the time of day? I didn't think they went for-”  
  
“No. Maker no.” I snorted a laugh. I couldn't help it. “I honestly think most of them were more prepared to kill me than bed me.” I shrugged, “I only meant that the news I got was sort of relevant to your bit. I did have someone, one of my crew, before- well before. So you were both a tiny little bit right in your wrongness. Do you really think I'm a mage Varric?”  
  
“Well-”  
  
“Well that certainly explains a lot. All you boring people and your monogamy.”  
  
“Mmm.” I sipped at the drink. “He was worth it.”  
  
“Had no idea you were such a romantic sap. Had me thinking you weren't into women Marian.”  
  
Course she wouldn't know that. I wasn't going to let people know that. Or know me. At all. I was leaving.  
  
“You wouldn't, I- didn't think I would be here long enough to let any of you really know me. You know.”  
  
Isabela paused mid drink.  
  
“What? You mean you lied?” I had said that I wasn't going anywhere before.  
  
“Oh. Oh. No. I didn't. Well I did. I was hoping for better news you know.”  
  
That was honest. Too honest. More honest than I've been in years if I'm honest. (For once)  
  
“You mean your not an aloof question dodger who shows up to save the day with no explanations.” Varric cut in. Like I have never had him fooled for a second.  
  
All my huntches and leads and aloof cool demenor. I had nothing for him.  
  
“Oh hardly. It's all aweful awful luck. You know, I missed this. You're all so awfully similar to my old Family- Crew. I- I'm Sorry.” I drowned the rest of my mug. Probaly not a good idea. Where this was headed.  
  
“You Hawkes are a sentimental bunch.” Verric took a drink from his own tankard. “Must run in the family.”  
  
I threw out an exaggerated shrug splashing a few stray drops on the floor. Which may not have been entirely intentional.  
  
“Got me. Giant emotional mess. Besides I know a certain dwarf who's the sentimental sort himself.”  
  
“Don't go spreading that around. You'll ruin my reputation.”  
  
Isabela tossed a question varric's way about Bianca. Setting Varric off on one of his origin stories. All lies. Though I've never gotten the full truth either.  
  
It's been forever since this. Comfort here. And these three. My Three. Give me a mission that didn't need a healer along and it was them. Three rouges and a warrior who moved just as quickly. Not the best strategy. But-  
  
My eyes had settled n Fenris at some point. A smile curled on my lips. Three years-  
  
Garrett murmured something unintelligible in his sleep. Startling me back to the present.  
  
Here I was getting all loose limed and doe eyed-  
  
Varric was somewhere in the deep roads retrieving Bianca from a thaig that sounded made up, and probably was. Garrett was waking up. Maybe it was the alcohol or the feeling, this warm homeyness in my gut that I wasn't ready to lose. Maybe I had enough hoping and was ready to do things. Maybe hope a little too.  
  
I leaned across the table on my elbows. Not exactly private. Not exactly close. Varric talked on and subtly has never been my strong suit without a bow in my hand.  
  
I don't care. This needs to happen.  
  
Salvage live on.  
  
“Fenris I'd like a word. If you could help me grab another round?”  
  
Varrics story was only getting more fantastical. I got up and went for the door. I hadn't waited for a reply. I focused on other things. My own foot falls. Breathing. Checking my balence to make sure I wasn't quite at the point oof needing suport to walk from Varrics suite to the bar and back. Sure yeah. The world wasn't wobbling much yet. Not leaning hither or thither.  
  
Or I pretended to fucus on these things as I listened.  
  
Somewhere behind me Fenris rise from his chair and his ear silent foot falls fell in behind me.  
  
“Well well.” Voiced Isabela as Fenris and I made it out into the hall. The tail end of her sentence lost to the overall din and Garrett's gurgled “what?” I ignored the implication in her undertone.  
  
Here then. I doubly faltered on the top stair. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. What I wanted to say wasn't coming to me as I thought it would. I don't just ignore people and treat them like they doon't exist every other time their in the room. I-  
  
Fell.  
  
It's not so many stairs. Not a bad fall.  
  
Not that I have fallen down this set of stairs before.  
  
No-  
  
Cold metal caught both my arms and held firm mid stumble. All air and constructed sentences gone. Left me as I was pulled back and lowered to the top steps. Fenris huffed behind me. A sigh maybe. Immediately letting go of my arms.  
  
I took two breaths and closed my eyes to the movement in the bar below. Almost fall had gone unnoticed. A word came to mind.  
  
“Thank you Fenris.”  
  
I didn't try to get up.  
  
“Your welcome.”  
  
“Well.” I started. Always good to start somewhere. “I think I need to apologies to you.” I opened my palms to the air in surrender. Metal brushed on leather as Fenris flexed his claws and settled beside me on the stair. I winked open an eye to see him sitting an arms length away. Staring down into the bustling tavern before I looked away to share the view.  
  
“What? Do you mean by that. Exactly?”  
  
“For as long as you've known me I've been awful. I need to apologies. I mean-”  
  
From the look on his face I don't think this is what he was expecting. I don't know what I expected him to expect. I've shut him off from getting to know even the bastard daughter.  
  
I couldn't do it. I couldn't deal with it.  
  
Looking at the face of a person I might never see again-  
  
That deep down I knew I wouldn't see again. Knowing that everything that was- Wasn't anymore and-  
  
Like it never happened at all.  
  
_Maybe lying to him was worse._  
  
That's such a selfish reason to treat someone like that.  
  
I don't treat people like that.  
  
Like nothing.  
  
“I mean, I don't treat people like I've treated you. I don't have a reason for it. Well, I looked up “I do, but given the circumstances it's not a good one. You must think I hate you or something.” I glanced his way again. He still looked. Off. Like he didn't really want to be here. Maybe. If I had to guess. Expressionless. “I's not a good reason, but maybe an explanation is the better than letting this sit and-” I closed my mouth and shook my head. Fishing a hand over my eyes. The alcohol can't be helping. Tell the truth- The closest to it anyway. “Maker I'm rambling.”  
  
“You are.” It sounded like he might be smiling but I didn't uncover my eyes to find out for sure.  
  
“You look like him. Not exactly. But similar enough. And I can't- I couldn't deal with it when I didn't- It was like looking at someone I missed so much but knew I wouldn't- When deep down I knew I would never see him again- Maker I reacted badly. That wasn't fair to you. I hope we can start over.  
  
“That's not what I expected.”  
  
“What were you expecting?”  
  
“That I had done something intolerable without realizing. I'm not aware of some Fereldan customs. They are mostly mocked in Tevinter.” He paused. “Do I really look so similar?”  
  
“Oh It's uncanny. Your both similar people too. Quiet, flare for the dramatic. Of course he didn't glow or stick his hands through people.” A small smile came to my lips and I let my hand drop. “I think I might skip on that drink refill, actually, I think I hit my limit.”  
  
“Are- Are you going to be all right?”  
  
“I'm not sure if your asking about my emotional state or if I'm okay to stand on my own. Both are a little shaky at the moment. Don't worry, I'll get used to it.”

  
  
[*****************************************************************************]  


I sat for a while as Fenris descended the stairs and was lost in the bustle of the bar at night. Getting my bearings.  
  
“So wait, is anyone going to tell me?” Garrett, who had clearly woken from his booze and exhaustion stupor, was speaking from Varric's suite behind me.  
  
“Think you should give her the chance to tell you herself?” Varric's voice. I could nearly feel it through the wood of the wall where I was leaning my head.  
  
“I'm sure she has every intention of telling you kitten. No need to look like that.” Said our pirate.  
  
I finally decided it was time to put the effort into returning to the room.  
  
“-but Marian told you all what happened-”  
  
Crawling up from the stair and leaning on walls as I made it all the way back to my seat. A fantastic feat of balance.  
  
“Well at least your a tired drunk. I very nearly just took a tumble into the tavern.”  
  
“Not drunk, Just tired-”  
  
“Oh and what have you _done_ with Fenris?” More sultry undertones from Isabela Cutting Garrett off. She eyed behind me as I took my seat. The elf no where in sight. Fenris was still off ordering the round I promised.  
  
“I silently glared at him till he went to get your next round Isabela. Like always.”  
  
“No! I saw you both sitting out there! If you were both just starring in tense awkward silence I'll eat my hat.”  
  
“That poor hat.” I curled up in my chair head resting on the arm next to Isabela. “You know, your very odd about what's private and not.”  
  
She shrugged laughing. Warm and familiar.  
  
“Well some things are worth knowing now aren't they? Besides a little friendly prodding never hurt anyone.” She shifted to match my position in her own chair our heads together. “I never make anyone tell me things they don't want to- Well unless there are extenuating circumstances-” She trailled off.  
  
“Like money or a certain lost relic-”  
  
“Marian.” She said with a slight edge to her voice.  
  
“Mmmm.”  
  
“Do I seriously not get to know what happened while I was asleep?”  
  
“Shush little brother me and Isabela were having a moment.” I laughed, feeling very warm. “I'm sure someone will fill you in eventually. In fact. I give them my absolute permission- to do so- later. Preferably when I'm not around to hear. I've had about enough public moping to last me the rest of my life.”  
  
“Marian that sounded almost fond. Maybe even Familial. Hawke we've done it. Broken through that crust of terrible jokes and question dodging to the heart of the Marina enigma.” Varric said.  
  
“Yes my broken crust covered heart.”  
  
“Not very pleasant imagery.” Fenris, accompanied by the clinking of glasses on a tray, from the door.  
  
“Well at least it's still in my chest.” I planted a hand over my left breast.  
  
“Hilarious.” He sat the new tray down. “The hearts actually closer to the center”  
  
A chuckle snort escaped me. Garret looked bewildered by the interaction. Fenris-  
  
Smiled, before hiding his laugh behind a hand.

* * *

  
  
Garrett drank a bit to much in our second wave of cards. I, smartly, stopped after having made enough of an emotional ass of myself.  
  
Which I had.  
  
Thoroughly.  
  
Hindsight and all that. There would be a few things I would need to write down before going to sleep tonight. Make sure I remember my story.  
  
So I made my way down the steps without a single slip and a coin purse slightly fuller than it had been at the start of the night. Garrett on an arm. Insisting he did not need help. Which he did.  
  
“You don't _need_ to take me home.” He leaned heavily on my arm before pushing off and walking the rest of the way to the door by himself. I followed a step behind already having caught him once getting out of his chair. He thumped into the door trying to open it and I retook my place at his side.  
  
Outside. Dark blots appeared on the cobblestones as rain fell. Not too bad yet, but the dark sky, free of the few usually visible stars said it was not likely to let up so I could walk home dry.  
  
Well not really my home.  
  
“Shit. It's raining.” Garret said from my left shoulder. His voice slurred a little. He stared acusingliy out into the dark. “You don't- He took the arm from my shouldger again and began to lean.”  
  
“No, I am playing responsible older sister and walking you home.”  
“But it's raining.”  
  
“Just water Garrett.”  
  
“But you'll get wet and you live here- and it'll be cold and-”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
I pulled him along out the door. Wet drops falling in my hair.  
  
“Fenris- Fenris could take me me.”  
  
“Then shouldn't you have left when he did?”  
  
“But Isabela had all my money. And I- I- I'm really drunk aren't I?”  
  
“You are.”

* * *

  
  
Garrett was quiet as we made our way up to Hightown. Worming through safe side streets and away from the more gang frequented areas of Lowtown. He was more focused on keeping his footing than anything else. I paid a weary lift operator while Garrett leaned against a wall. Not risking the main stairway.  
  
We came up to the house a half hour later soaked to the bone.  
  
I do not look forward to the walk back.  
  
Garrett was still wobbly. Clearly not as much of a drinker as the rest of us.  
  
I walked him in the door. Knowing her wouldn't make it up the stairs to his room on his own.  
  
Not that I had ever taken this same drunk trip myself.  
  
Never.  
  
The house was warm. I shook off some excess water at the door. Mirrored by my other self who's arm I grabbed as he wobbled slightly.  
  
“Careful.”  
  
“Ah Messer Hawke! Good to see you home at last- Ah and- er,” the dwarfs eyes widened at me. “Wonderful to see you back safe.” Bodahn said this a great margin quieter than his usual loud and cheerful voice.  
  
I knew. It crept over me. A dreadful sort of half drunk hope dread.  
  
Together twisting around my gut. My feet moved.  
  
“Come on Garrett. I'm just going to help him upstairs.” I hushed.  
  
If I'm quick. If I'm quick and careful maybe-  
  
“Your home quite late.” We made it to the bottom stair when the voice came drifting from behind us. Form the library if I had to guess. I froze. Air stopped. Garret went rigid and stood strait. His eyes wide enough they might fall out of his head.  
  
Dreadful hope.  
  
The tap tap of her footfalls were coming but I didn't turn from the stairs to look.  
  
“Varric doesn't still have you looking for _that girl-”_ Something crashed, tinkling like glass. Garrett turned abruptly wobbled. I caught his arm so he wouldn't fall still without turning all the way to see.  
  
“Mother are you all right?”  
  
“What is _she_ doing _here!_ ”  
  
I was frozen between looking and not looking. I knew she was home. Absolutely knew. I've avoided this moment for so long. I've seen her at a distance so many times. My breath fluttered in and out of me in quick puffs.  
  
Just look at her.  
  
In a distant part of the world Garrett is trying to calm her down.  
  
“-what do you think your doing bringing _that girl_ here to my home.” Shrill and crisp and oh so mother.  
  
“This is my house Mother.” Now that's not diffusing Garrett. You have to defuse. I looked at them. Garrett tall and built like Father and Mother-  
  
“That lying daughter of a-”  
  
I felt a bubble forming in my throat, a chocked laugh escaped me. Just the one garbled ha. Sounding like a sob.  
  
My eyes pricked.  
  
“Mother stop this. You know she's not lying.”  
  
“And that's supposed to be better!” She cracked like a whip.  
  
There she was. Her lips pressed in a hard line. Wrinkles creased round her angry eyes. Blue as lighting.  
  
The tears spilled. She looked taken aback in the moment before she snapped to appalled.  
  
“Get out!”  
  
“Mother don't. She walked me home in the rain-”  
  
“Get that bastard out of _our_ house.”  
  
I nearly tripped over my own feet as I went for the door. Heart hammering, breath rushing back to my lungs. I Sobbed in earnest now. Caught a glimpse of Orana in the library looking terrified as I bolted for the door.  
  
Shit.  
  
“Marian!” I banged open the heavy door, hearing it slam behind me and I skidded to a halt in the street. Gulping back rain drenched air and sobbing out every other breath.  
  
Rain and tears streaked down my cheeks.  
  
Mother-  
  
I hadn't seen her. Really seen her- Not once since- Since-  
  
“Marian wait!” Light streamed around me. My shadow cutting it down the middle and stretching across the square.  
  
Guilt retched through me. I knew I shouldn't have come here. I knew what would happen. I knew.  
  
I came anyway.  
  
I know my lie is a lie.  
  
A painful disparaging lie painted on my fathers good name. Tainting memories of him.  
  
If I was in her place-  
  
“Marian?”  
  
I found myself staring up at the black night sky. Water pelting my face. Not a star in sight.  
  
I very nearly let myself forget. That here. Now. Mother is alive.  
  
_She's alive._  
  
A fresh wave of tears flooded from my eyes. I ducked my head. Laugh sobbing.  
  
The rain was terrible now. Lashing down so hard it stung.  
  
Someone grabbed my shoulder and I jolted. Startled. Garrett was attached to that hand. His expression caught between hurt and comfort.  
  
“Sorry,” I croaked. The rain nearly drowning out my voice.  
  
“No. She had no right to say any of that. You had no say in fathers lie. She knows that. She's just- It's not your fault.”  
  
I choked. He gripped my shoulder.  
  
Not My fault?  
  
“Hey, hey, come on.” He out his arm over my shoulder and led me back towards the house. Stopping under the eve before letting go. “She shouldn't have. Said any of it. She should know better-”  
  
“Stop.” I managed. “Its not. I'm not upset.” I wiped uselessly at my eyes. Pulling back control of my voice.  
  
“Not upset?” He said with disbelief.  
  
“Well your mother didn't upset me- It's just, It's been a while.”  
  
Garrett opened an closed his mouth as if he was going to say something but decided against it.  
  
“She- Your mother. Leandra right? She reminds me a bit of my own mother is all.”  
  
“Don't tell her that.”  
  
“Oh.” I laughed. “I won't.” A few more tears welled over my eyes.  
  
She's alive.  
  
How had I not realized it before.  
  
“Drier here.” He mentioned patting my shoulder in a reassuring sort of way. We leaned against the wall together. Rain pelting our legs where it hit the cobbles and splashed back. “Sort of.”  
  
We were already drenched.  
  
Eventually, after a long quiet moment. I actually stopped crying.  
  
“Garrett.”I had an idea. “You know it was my fault.”  
  
“What was?”  
  
“We. My mother and I. We left him. Mother got tired of moving from place to place. She was sure, which I mean you can't be sure at that age really- but she was sure I was not a mage. So she took me and left. Didn't want me growing up with n place to call home. She really wasn't much for wandering.” The lies layered together. Stacked well. Fit. I don't know why I didn't clear our dads name before now.  
  
“Oh.” He looked at the ground, eyebrows creased.  
  
“I wouldn't blame him if I were you.” I breathed. “I don't.”  
  
“That doesn't change the fact that he never told us. Not once did he ever even hint at having another child. Out there somewhere. Even if he knew how mother would react- He could have-”  
  
“Could have told you?”  
  
“Yeah,” he breathed. “He should have. You- You could be more forthcoming with these details you know it's been years and you-”  
  
“Can you really blame me for not spilling my entire story. Up until recently I thought I had somewhere to go back to-” I shook my head. He went to say something but I interrupted. “No. I get it. If I were you I would feel the same. Some odd girl shows up out of the blue, says she's my sister. Never says everything. Ruins how I see my father. I'd be resentful too.  
  
“I'm not resentful-”  
  
“No?”  
  
He looked abashed.  
  
“Maybe.” He wrapped his arms round himself. Sighed loudly. “Yeah. Maybe not just resentful. You show up. Dying. Pull the rug out from under all of us. Keep dropping little snippets of who you are. You stuck around for so long I got comfortable. I got used to having you around. You don't seem like you actually like me very much. Another slightly abrasive family member. Family. I thought I had time to get to know you a little at a time. There's so much I want to know. But it seems like if I press to much you might vanish. Like you had somewhere you wanted to be, which you did! Apparently- You just said you were planning on leaving?” He got a bit loud. The rain kept his voice from travelling.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah- You were asleep when everyone else found out earlier. I'm sure they'll fill you in on everything-”  
  
“Your not going to tell me?”  
  
Garrett hawke was suddenly very real. In this moment. Caring even in anger, honest, himself.  
  
Not me at all really.  
  
“Garrett” I paused and with a new breath, “Hawke. I've already been through it tonight. I don't want to start thinking about it again.”  
  
He closed his eyes and made a face like I'd pinched him.  
  
“You know if I knew what all the _its_ were I wouldn't feel like I'm being so insensitive all the time.”  
  
“Ask Varric tomorrow. I'm sure he'll tell the story the best.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
I had been taking this all on like Garrett was just a different me. Irrelevant.  
  
Like I had taken a side role in my own life.  
  
He isn't me though is he?

* * *

  
  
We stood shoulder to, his just slightly higher, shoulder under the eve for a while. Talking absently.  
  
The storm thundered on. Lashing the stonework of the roads.  
  
I stood next to my almost brother and Mother and Carver are alive.  
  
I may be a different person here. A half sister.  
  
An easy lie. Truth riddled in to make it believable. Almost believe it myself given time.  
  
Unintentionally or really without thinking about the consequences. Thinking none of it mattered do or don't. I wouldn't be here long enough for any of it to effect me. Sure I told myself that.  
  
I've already made choices. I've changed things.  
  
A burning feeling welled inside me angry and excited.  
  
Mother is alive.  
  
I'm here now. Right now. I have the power to change things. _Do things again._ Fenris' face flashed in my mind.  
  
I wasted time trying to do something that might as well be impossible.  
  
I've had time.  
  
I've processed. I've coped. I am going to move forward.  
  
Better or worse. I'm here.  
  
I can't go back.  
  
I can change things. Do it all better.  
  
I can change the future here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR
> 
> Hey sorry I have not updated in forever!!!! (due to technical trouble aka I don't currently have a pc. I left a comment on the last chapter If you would like more details).
> 
> This whole chapter was done on paper, and oh how I forgot how tedious type-copying is. There's actually a little vital bit more that I need to add at the end of this chapter but I'll tack it on later (or add it with the start of the next chapter and move it here later if it takes me too long). I need to sleep. I just want to post it now I haven't posted it so long.
> 
> Some other things: I honestly have absolutely no idea how wicked grace works. So I went this sort of like black jack? but not really? vague game description I have going here.
> 
> *Varric suspects Marian of genuinely having some means of knowing when and where things are going to happen.*- Actual note from my Paper draft of this chapter.
> 
> EDIT: The missing bit of this chapter has been added in I will be sure to put a note at the start of the next chapter to alert anybody who missed it that it is now there. Also I fixed the small continuity error.


	14. Fight Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke takes on the world.  
> One failure at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure you have read the update/addition to the previous chapter (Ch13), Under the [****************] cut.

I could hear his voice round the corner. Gentlemanly and full of hidden teeth. A woman giggled.  
  
The sun was nearly setting. Hightown streets still fluttering with occasional activity. Here it's quieter.  
  
I had to be quieter.  
  
Stealth.  
  
I can do stealth.  
  
I took a shallow breath. Tucked away in an alleyway. Just a few feet from from the back garden where he is. So close. The vantage points were few. Hes always too tucked away, or in too-crowded too-open an area for clean-unseen arrow shot. Always someone or something in the way.  
  
My daggers are heavy in my hands. I almost feel sick.  
  
I can do this.  
  
It will be easy.  
  
Satisfying even.  
  
I just need to catch him with his guard down. I moved from my hiding place. Ready to come barrelling round the hedge wall. A single moment in the road. His disgusting voice was still whispering sweet nothings, trying to-  
  
“Marian!”  
  
The voices in the garden shushed each other with laughter and curses and fell silent. I spun on the ball of my foot. Still engaged. Still ready for a fight. For a slip up. Daggers raised in my hands. Avaline clanked to a halt a few meters away.  
  
“What are you doing there?” Her most authoritative voice. Saved for criminals and the occasional lecture. All the guard captain and none my long time friend-  
  
An interruption. Like a rock hitting water. Sudden a rippling. Anger hissed between my teeth a halting breath.  
  
Shit.  
  
The trepidations that had already been swirling in my mind coming to surface.  
  
“Just- Looking for someone.” She made a face at that.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Thought I recognized someone that came this way. Figured why not greet them. You know.” I shoved my daggers back into their sheaths.  
  
Subtle. Stealth. Me.  
  
The adrenaline I had run with since I had caught sight of the man fading, leaving me shaky.  
  
“And?” Aveline prodded. Taking a few steps closer to stare down the alleyway where I had been.  
  
I listened hard. Nothing to be heard over the hedge wall. Gone then.  
  
“Lost track of them I guess.” She squinted at me and gave another searching glance down the alleyway.  
  
“Move along then.”  
  
“Will do captain.” I gave her a Fereldan army salute and she sighed, like she was about to start in on me about something, before I took off down the road.  
  
I had had him.  
  
Quentin was so close.  
  
I had waited. Spent multiple days staking out the entrance to his hidden lair below the city. Wasted hours touring the markets and keeping an eye on the foundry district.  
  
There was more than one way out of that place-  
  
But-  
  
I wasn't in a state to rember or explore the place last time I was there. So I waited and today he came out. Casual as can be and I followed. He came here to this poor woman hes tricked and lured- and I may have just let him kill her.  
  
If Aveline hadn't-  
  
I would have-  
  
Would have?  
  
Risked a potential sneak attack on a powerful blood mage. Alone.  
  
If the sneak attack had worked. With no real plan, just prior knowledge and tracking-  
  
He would have been dead, and that- would have been luck.  
  
Pure luck.  
  
If I had failed?  
  
I would be dead instead. Not only that, but demons would likely be rampaging in the Hightown streets and Quentin would be free to continue his murder spree. Ending as it did- With her-  
  
What was I thinking? Taking him on alone?  
  
How foolish is that?  
  
Reckless.  
  
I want him dead.  
  
If I kill him mother will live. She can hate me here forever. But she'll live.  
  
I just need a better plan.

* * *

  
  
My heart was hammering. Two birds one stone. Just keep telling myself two birds one stone and maybe I'll be able to do this. The great-sword at my back felt heavy anyway.  
  
This is a very sound plan. More eyes, more ears, more muscle if things go wrong. Maybe not optimum. It would be better with more people. But less mouths is also key. So two.  
  
Taking a deep breath I walked through the door. The lock still soundly broken.  
  
The strong and almost homey-familiar smell of musk, dust and decay greeted me inside. I passed the desiccated corpse in the entryway. I haven't been here in so long It's presence is almost friendly. I made an effort to not be quiet. I'm not sneaking in. I scuffed by feet and opened the inner door to the ballroom.  
  
I suppose this is technically the first time I've ever been here. I coughed and adjusted my bag on my hip before kicking a stray tile into a corner. Stirring up dust.  
  
Taking in the whole worn-down and battle-scarred ballroom. Shattered tables and blood streaked walls. My eyes wandered to the twin stair leading up to fenris' room across the floor...  
  
Well nothing for it then.  
  
I swung the sword off my back. Wedging the blunted tip between a pair of tiles.  
  
“You here Fenris?” I called in a voice a hair louder than necessary. Knowing perfectly well he was here and would here me even if I whispered in this silent house. If things were not as they are- I would just walk up the stairs and greet him there-  
  
But.  
  
New first impressions.  
  
The was rummaging in the room above. It was fairly early in the day- Fenris came out hand on his sword hilt an inch of the blade drawn above his shoulder. Looking dangerous.  
  
Then he saw me and his expression softened to one of absolute confusion.  
  
“You?” He dropped the hilt of his sword. Staring at me, then he glanced down a the sword I had planted in the floor, and possibly at the rubbish armour I had stuffed myself in. All padding. Fenris tilted his head, to the effect of ever so slightly accentuating the confusion etched on his face.  
  
His hair was slightly bedraggled-  
  
Still sleeping in armour then.  
  
“Me.” A smile broke out across my face. Light from the holes in the roof highlighted the dust motes stirred by my slightly exaggerated breath.  
  
“Does Hawke need us?” He sounded unsure. As he took a step towards the stairs my smile faltered a little.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then-” he paused, “what exactly are you doing here?”  
  
I absently ran a thumb over the hilt on the overly large blade I held in front of me. Blunt edged and full of dints from countless blows. Not my practical weapon but familiar in another way. Each cut along it's length matching the blades of a pair of daggers I carried sheathed on my hips.  
  
This has been done before under arguably worse circumstances.  
  
More awkward that this. Had to be. I took a calming, determined breath.  
  
“Will you spar with me?”  
  
He looked at the blade again. Standing free on it's point, and back at me. As I took a step away.  
  
“What?” His tone wonderfully apprehensive.  
  
“Spar with me.” My heart thundered on hopefully, and so did my mouth, “I mean you don't have to obviously. I know you turned down training Aveline's guard. I'm not asking for training in Tevinter forms or methods- Just one on one practice.” I rambled.  
  
We used to spar all the time. In the years when we were working things out. Getting over- well each-other. Equal parts hope and acceptance on my part-  
  
Sparring-  
  
“I did not think you were in need of much practice.”  
  
“Honestly. I've been using my bow for so long my blade skills may have gotten a little rusty. I'd be foolish to not practice. Sparring just seemed like it would serve me better than repeating stances and swings on my own any day.”  
  
I bit my lip.  
  
I was hoping for a smooth agreement. I mean I shouldn't expect everything to fall into place just like that after one amicable conversation a few nights ago after years of nothing, but-  
  
I need someone I trust. Someone who won't go off to tell Hawke immediately-  
  
Theres always Isabela. She'll take a little convincing.  
  
It will be better. More stealthy with a smaller party in the know. I want it to be Fenris. I don't have an excuse. Two birds-  
  
“Right. Give me a moment.” He turned and stalked back into his room.  
  
There was a flash of silver-blue in the dim room. Hardly in the realm of hearing the banister squeaked. A blur of blue motion leaped the banister. It registered a second too late. A charge in the air. The sword was gone.  
  
On the balls of my feat now I stepped back- too slow. Too close to the back wall. My daggers were in hand. Cool worn leather grips-  
  
Too  
  
too  
  
slow.  
  
My one dagger was gone. Something clanked to the floor-  
  
I felt a bruise forming across my ribs and the stone wall against my back. Half slouched and slipping, if it weren't for the hand on my wrist and the arm pinning me to the wall I would be on the floor.  
  
It took another moment for me to register the blade under my neck. It's blunt edge cold the empty hand where it had been flexed around a long gone hilt. My other blade still locked in my fingers but uselessly pinned above my head.  
  
“Dead.” The lyrium still flickered under his skin. Casting odd shadows on a face too close to my own. My face was getting warm.  
  
“Yeah- Impressive-” I pushed the blade away from my neck with my empty-free hand. Still pinned to the wall. “I'm sure- I'm now- amply prepared to be killed by one of the many- many lyrium ghosts I'll be fighting in the future.” my voice was raspy, breathing off kilter. “Could you?” I pulled in my wrist slightly, “I mean unless your enjoying this.”  
  
The pressure across my chest, wrist and neck was relived immediately. Fenris stepped away with an awkward cough. I half slid down the wall before catching myself. He'd turned away so I couldn't see his face, rolling a shoulder, my blade still in his hand.  
  
The great-sword was at my feet. I righted myself.  
  
Perhaps the chide was too far.  
  
“Would you not be better served then, with some other sparing partner? As you said. Aveline seems quite keen in finding someone to shape up her recruits.” He still wasn't looking at me. Sounding just a hair annoyed.  
  
So he was trying to prove something with that stunt.  
  
“Aveline, bless her, is far too keen on catching me on the wrong side of the law than letting me near the city guards. I think I've given her the impression that I might be just a hair too shady for Hawkes company. Besides I don't think she wants the city guard trained in sneak craft.”  
  
“Why not ask Isabela then?”  
  
“Working in her down time? Do we know the same Isabela?”  
  
“So your assumption here is that I do not have better things to be doing with my time?”  
  
“Well honestly I hadn't thought about it quite like that. You could have said no. I just thought that maybe this could be,” I bent to pick up the cast away sword, “Well, something worth while.” the words sort of hung there. Fenris was looking at me now, a crease of contemplation between his brows.“If you do have something else- I could try to convince Isabela that a morning workout can be beneficial-”  
  
“I do not. As it happens.”  
  
“Is that a yes?”  
  
“I suppose it's not a completely unreasonable idea.”  
  
“Can we agree on no lyrium as well? I don't think I'll ever be facing you in a real battle, so-”  
  
“I agree.” He held out my lost dagger, and we swapped blades. I rolled my shoulders as we stepped back from each other. Shifting my weight, ready to move. Blunted daggers ready in my fists. Fenris too was moving. Sword raised, eyes watching. We shifted slowly to he left judging, stance, gearing for attack. Step and step and step.  
  
I gave the slightest of nods and he inclined his head too.  
  
He moved first. Lunging forwards. Still so fast- but I was ready this time.  
  
So our dance began with the clang of well worn steal.

* * *

  
  
  
My body ached in the way that only a good training session can make you ache. The best and worst feeling. I could feel the sting of every bruise forming despite all my extra padded armour. No thrown swings. My muscled screamed there wear.  
  
A half hour? An hour? Time has passed. I'm not sure how much.  
  
The practice sword had clattered away some moments ago. Fenris lay on his back.  
  
I stood. Blades in hand. Numerous disarms and tap outs had crossed between us, but this was the first time I had managed to actually disarm him. It couldn't have come at a better time because I am absolutely at my limit.  
  
I can hardly recall exactly what I did. Something hes sure to say is terrible form and incredibly risky. Not to mention an invasion of personal space.  
  
I slumped to the floor crossed legged. Breathing heavy. Fenris was sitting up slowly.  
  
“Sorry. That may have been a tad unnecessarily-” I had to breathe, “aggressive.”  
  
“I've had worse.” He ran a claw over the dent I had made in the side of his gauntlet, “More importantly- were it an edged blade you would be in a far worse state than I.” his breath was as lost as mine.  
  
“Right. Don't throw yourself at swords.” I had a silent breathy laugh. “Like I'd need another hole in my guts.”  
  
“It's happened more than the once?”  
  
“Oh, Only twice.” I can imagine the cross of scars now under all my layers. The Arishok firstly, then that mystery blade- The vaguest of shapes- My hand came to rest over the old wounds.  
  
Fenris chuffed a half laugh.  
  
“You are rightly in need of close arms practice then.”  
  
“I told you that from the start.”  
  
We sat in companionable silence a wile. Winding down, Catching our breath. I got up to pace a few laps around the room to keep my muscles from getting stiff. Taking a moment to retrieve the practice sword. I leaned all three blunt blades against the banister of the stair while I was at it. The old notched blades sitting together like the so often had before-  
  
I had been surprised to find they were still in my bag at all. Surly I had taken stock of my weapons once or twice since it all began but- I didn't usually pack them on missions. I hadn't really taken it to mind that they were in there before I had decided to try this. I thought I would have to buy a new pair of unfinished bades- Or pinch a pair from Aveline's training yard...  
  
The sword and daggers had been in my bad like so many other things that I don't often keep on hand- it all usually stayed in a chest at the manse till they were needed. Wesley's sheild, of all things, had been wrapped in a heap of scarves-  
  
“So, what brought all this on exactly? Other than you being out of practice.” What brought it on? I took a moment, still staring at the swords. He was in my peripherals, walking and stretching. He turned to look at me though- “I mean to say. We were not on the best of term with each other until now. Or at least I had thought that untill-”  
  
I shuffled in my bag a moment taking a few steps towards him. Which was enough to derail his reflection on my drunken confessions of two days ago. I found the small bottle of elfroot in a side pouch with a number of other tinctures. All nestled safely in soft fabric.  
  
“Well actually-” I took a sip of the potion before holding it out to him. He took it. “I'm thinking of hiring you. Just you.”  
  
Apprehension crossed his features, raising his eyebrows.  
  
“Hire me-”  
  
“You do odd mercenary work, I mean- outside of what we do with Hawke right?”  
  
“On ocasion.” He finally drank the elfroot. “Why me?”  
  
“What I have in mind isn't exactly the most savoury.” I took the bottle back before continuing, Clinking gently back with the others. “I need to kill a mage. You may have heard about a number of vanishing women a few years ago. Abducted and then butchered.”  
  
“Didn't Avaline ask Hawke for help with that- something to do with the templar Emmeric. I was not present but I believe he let the mage go. Are you saying-”  
  
“No, not Gascard, hes not exactly innocent but I'm after the actual threat. The one no ones ever found. Hes a blood mage by the name of Quentin and he needs to be stopped.”  
  
“I assume you're looking for justice outside the law?”  
  
“Well- yes. The bloody Templars are too busy abusing their charges and making their own problem to look for actual threats.”  
  
Fenris made a face. But didn't comment on my stance.  
  
“Is this Quentin even still in Kirckwall?”  
  
“He is. I wouldn't be here if he wasn't.”  
I wiped a layer of dust from the steps and sat down. Brushing my hands together.  
  
“It'll be risky. Two against one powerful blood mage, but I don't plan on just walking in and challenging him to a duel. I'm going to watch his comings and goings to find the best window to get into his lair. Map it. Learn all the exists- all the hiding places. Then I can find a way to kill him while his guards down. I need an extra pair of eyes and ears to even have a chance thought. A little extra muscle won't hurt my chances either if things go awry.  
  
“We don't have all the time in the world either. Hes still killing women, and I'd rather end his misrable existance before he has a chance of taking any more victims.” Fenris had taken to leaning against the banister, all ears. “I'll be able to pay you about as well as Garrett does. Though my funds are a bit slimmer. So. Interested?”  
  
“When would we start?”  
  
“I'd need you the day after tomorrow, I want to watch him for another couple days. You're in then?”  
  
He nodded. I stood back up. I needed to get going if I did want to get out to watch for Quentin.  
  
“Right good. I'll be back around the same time as I was today then, I'll be able to fill you in on everything I know, and the rest of the plan.” I walked towards the door before coming back for the swords. “I need to go. If I'm going to keep an eye out today.” Something dawned on me. About stealth missions. “Um. If you could try to find something, a little less conspicuous to wear, We'll need to blend in.”  
  
He glanced down at himself. Looked almost like he was going to give his usual line about standing out anyway-  
  
“I'll try to find something.”  
  
“Thanks,” I headed for the entrance hall door in earnest now, “and Fenris, I would really rather this stayed between us, I don't want to risk him hearing that anyone is still after him.”  
  
“I won't.”

* * *

  
  
I wore some of my shabbiest armour over my champions mail, with my best daggers on my back. Lounging, feigning relatedness, perched on top an old barrel.  
  
The sun was high, nearly noon. And the day was actually rather nice for a change. A few stray sea birds squaked on a nearby roof looking dusty. Likely having flown through one of the many billowing smoke columns from the foundry district.  
  
  
Fenris leaned against the wall next to me. Looking Incredibly uncomfortable. He clenched and un-clenced his naked hands every so often as the minutes ticked past.  
  
We had come to a begrudging compromise. So his gauntlets and spiked hide shoulders were tucked safely in my bag. The rest of his usual self was hidden- to some degree- beneath a large old tan shirt sinced at the waist with a wide belt. The top of his breast plate just showing in the lose lased V of it's neckline.  
  
A discussion had taken place about how exactly this made him stand out less. As I thought it would  
  
The market was bustling around us. A few other groups lingered at the edges of the busy paths like we were. Some looking skiver than others, with varying degrees of refute.  
  
Together we looked like an odd pair of frumpy and worse off members of some gang. My intention from the start.  
  
No one will blink twice at us.  
  
Though maybe if I had borrowed one of Isabela's bandanas. We could hide his hair-  
  
“You are sure hes going to pass through here today?” Fenris spoke quietly. Leaning down towards me.  
  
I waved a hand in mine of casual conversation.  
  
“He's been active nearly every day since I started watching him. He comes out from that deserted foundry round the corner. Sometimes stops in the market. Then goes on his way to hightown.”  
  
“Can you be sure he hasn't moved on? That this is a reliable pattern?”  
  
“I-” A head bobbed round the corner with a shock of grey hair. Fenris watched me watch him. I looked away. Not to be caught staring. Instead I looked to Fenris, sharing a grimace. Out of the corner of my eye Quentin vanished up the steps into the market proper.  
  
“That was him.” It was a statment of fact, but I nodded anyway.  
  
“Come on. We have a few hours.”

* * *

  
  
  
I shoved the last barrel from off the trap door. Keeping a careful map on my head of exactly where each obstruction had been. Magic would have made this so much easier. Thinking of an old me. Of the first time I was ever in this deserted building so so many years ago now. It seems so foolish to have missed this door then-  
  
“So you want me to watch the exit while you go down there alone-”  
  
“I want you to stay here and and warn me if you hear hum come back early. Which he won't. But if he does. We'll either have enough time to get out. Or you have to come down, and we hide. You make the call. Hes been keeping a pretty reliable schedule. I don't think we have to worry about him coming back.  
  
“You are aware I'm sure that this plan relies an awful lot on chance. You're sure it's going to work?”  
“This is the best I've got Fenris. I'm just getting out bearings today. I won't even be down there ten minutes. Unless you have some other suggestion?”  
  
“Hawke would-”  
  
“A plan that doesn't involve my brother or anyone else. He doesn't need to know hes let a murderer run around butchering women in his city. I don't want rumours spreading. If you haven't noticed Hawke is bit of a small time bar legend and that's where rumours start.”  
  
“I seriously have my doubts about this being the only butcher in Kirkwall. Legend or not, Hawke could help us. I understand why you might have trepidation's but- “  
  
“No.” I swung open the trap door. “I trust you Fenris. I'm not involving anyone else. Not unless we have too.”  
  
The ladder rungs were old and rusted, like so many old iron trappings throughout the city.  
  
Looking up- Fenriswas watching my decent. Features hidden in shadow. H had tried multiple times to convince me that it might be better to bring in another party member. Once he had heard the long and short of my plan. I couldn't abide the risk. It was all foolish enough.  
  
If I recalled correctly. Bellow there were multiple chambers. The first large and expansive, there were tables- it all sort of blurred together. A living chamber- A path between rooms where I found mothers locket.  
  
It's vital to map the place. To find somewhere suitable for better observation. To learn all the exit points, and prepare-  
  
“Marian!” It was a sharp and carry whisper. I was half way down the ladder now. Panic spurred me back up. Fenris very nearly pulled me out himself, before sliding the door shut. Silent.  
  
“What-”  
  
“Shh. Somone's here.” He mouthed. Then he went to pushing the boxes back over the door- As close as we could get it to how it had been. I moved the last barrel slightly.  
  
There was a creak on the stairs in the main room- Footsteps. My heart slammed into my rib-cage. A pounding drum. There were still too many variables. Too many risks. I knew. I'm stubborn and I knew-  
  
I grabbed fenris by the wrist and pulled him away down the hall at a run- Not the way out but there were more boxes, we could hide-  
  
A key clicked in the lock I'd picked earlier. No time for hiding-  
  
“Fenris, sorry. Just-” A rushed whisper. I pushed him into the nearest wall and planted myself directly in front of him. In a rush I ran my hands through his hair. Dishevelled. Out of breath.  
  
Fenris caught on, or was going to try and crush me to death, he pulled me closer with an arm- the other tangled in the back of my hair-  
Somewhere behind us the door opened. I tucked my face into Fenris neck, he made low noise in his throat.  
  
It was easy to imagining all the things that one could think we were doing looking as we are.  
  
A non- suspect reason two people would be in an abandoned foundry. Dark secluded. Abandoned.  
  
“Ah- Excuse me!” The shout was almost apologetic, acting. In every word teeth; For the unsuspecting.  
  
I jolted back from Fenris. Spinning round to face the man at the door. Trying to tidy my hair and straiten clothes that were not rumbled enough by a half. Fenris didn't move. I swear I saw the faintest flicker of blue.  
  
I hoped my face was as flushed as it felt. That I looked the part of embarrassed woman enough to distract from factors that painted a different picture. Like the sword on Ferris back or daggers on mine.  
  
“Sorry we uh- We thought nobody owned this place- We were just looking around-” Fenris stepped away from the wall and put a hand on my shoulder. I stammered another apology looking down. Guilty. Look guilty. Watching Quentin's, for it was Quentin, feet. Trying to stop the gorge rising in my throat. The grip on my shoulder tightened. I looked up at Fenris, his eyes were on me and there was a question written there.  
  
I shook my head just slightly. We had no advantage here- if it came to a fight- if my plan was ruined now-  
  
If it was my fault again-  
  
“Who am I to stop young love. But you can't be poking around private property. Perhaps you could find yourselves somewhere more suited fr well- Somewhere cleaner.”  
  
“Right. We will. Sorry.” I grabbed Fenris by the hand and pulled him away. Passed the demon on the stairs. Who laughed. Laughed-  
  
It was everything to stop my hands from going to my daggers. To not try to kill him now.  
  
I didn't let go till we were down the steps outside once again.  
  
“Maker damn it!” I took five measured steps away from Fenris and the stairs and everything. “Why in the void did he come back! Who gave him the right to breath!”  
  
Fenris may have said something-  
  
I was shaking- I realized.  
  
Anger and a deep dark pit of old hurt welling inside, roiling.  
  
We did not have time to waste- If I had decided on yesterday instead of today- If I relented to more help- I did not have time to be stubborn- To take risks-  
  
I kept walking. It had to be around noon- the market had a good crowd.  
  
I walked through it. Without any thought of where why legs were taking me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke (at least in the early years) is always just leading the charge in someone else's plan. So I'm inclined to think she's not so stellar at coming up with a cohesive plan herself. You know unless she's getting Donnic and Aveline together. Even that took multiple tries.
> 
> There are also a couple tags I'll need to add for upcoming chapters. Some of them are ones I don't want to add till I get to the intended chapter for mild spoiler reasons, I personally don't like this kind of tag but I know sometimes it's nice to know exactly what your getting into, (I may not decide to ad them at all actually) The other is Anders/Male Hawke. As I'm likely going to do that. But I'm hesitant to add it as a tag. Cause it's not going to be a main focus outside of Garret & Anders centric chapters? and I don't want to falsely lead Anders/Male Hawke shippers into a fic where it's not the main focus? (& other reasons) 
> 
> While some focus is still going to be there obviously. I also don't want turn off people who are already reading/new readers who may hate that ship in particular and then have it thrown at them without warning. Like it was not in my idea from the start but it's necessary for where we're going from here. 
> 
> Opinions about tags welcome. Is there anything you would def want in the tags so it doesn't throw you? I mean as far as common fic tags go, ((discluding content warnings cause those ore in the starting notes)) Cause while I've had a general direction from the start things are actually structured nearly to the end now. So I know what's coming with near certainty.


	15. Deliberations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flip a coin.

A storm raged around them, brilliant in it's destruction, if lacking in other storm like qualities. 

  
Red flashed across the battlefield at the peripherals of his vision. Sometimes this was Hawke, Red is the least concealing colour a rogue could ever wear, trying to be where she was needed most- which was too many places. Other times it was the Knight Commander, red warping round her twisted sword, ranting as she went. Not that you could catch a single word in all the mess around them.  
  
Absolute and uncontrolled chaos.  
  
A storm.  
  
He wrenched his sword free from the metal of a whirling monstrosity of bronze. It's inverted joints, that never should have been made to move in the first place, screaming in protest to his actions.  
  
“You know! I have always hated these blighted statues!” Hawke somewhere behind himself on the field. “You think 'oh they're foreboding because of context.' No. NO. Some part of me knew they would wake up and try to kill me someday just like every- other- Maker- forsaken- thing in this city.” Swearing up a storm of her own. A battle mantra of obscenities keeping time with her blows.  
  
This is the most reassuring sound he has ever heard. Even in all the chaos her voice is there. She's here.  
  
They will win this day.  
  
In the corner of his eye Aveline is swinging at the legs of a walking statue. Solid bronze against well worn steal stalling it's advance- Roots ripped up from beneath the stones, ancient magic reverberating in his markings, entangling the monster in a roiling nest of green. Even as it struggled the vines wove themselves tighter.  
  
Avaline nodded to Merril and the two moved on to the next.  
  
One of the whirling blades of his foe- closer than a moment before- ripped across the flesh of his upper arm. Fenris hissed and threw up his own blade to block the raining blows. Clanging metal throwing off a shower of sparks.  
  
_Pay attention to the battle at hand._  
  
“Shit-shitting-shit-fuck-” Hawke chimes in agreement.  
  
“Heads up broody!”  
  
A series of bolts clanked off the mechanized thing. Two catching in a joint. The metal screeched as it persisted, unrelenting. More bolts dinged off the thing followed by a crashing jar of ooze. Fenris moved- An arcing blow severed a leg from the former statue. Bronze no match for the enchanted blade.  
  
It flailed and stumbled. Uselessly reaching to land another blow. Whatever Varric had thrown congealing in it's remaining joints.  
  
Hawke made a triumphant noise. A quick glance assured him that Hawke, along with Isabela and the Assassin had taken down one of the statues. There were more. Too many really.  
  
Too many.  
  
Fenris took a breath and dashed towards his next foe.

* * *

  
  
Meredith was silent. A smile cracked her face near in two.  
  
Hawke too far away from him. Too close to her. Reaching out towards her. It was wrong. All wrong.  
  
Merrill- Or Aveline screamed.  
  
Fenris moved. Metal giants trying to catch the shimmer that he was. Ghosting bright blue and flashing forwards. Too swift for the slow lumbering things.  
  
Red darkened the blade in Merediths hands and dripped to the stones.  
  
He caught Hawke as she collapsed. Blood seeping into the fabric of her tunic front and back.  
  
A shield slammed into Meredith from the side sending her staggering. Red flared from the sword in her hands- soaked in blood.  
  
Hawkes Blood.  
  
Fenris backed away. The battle became background noise. The motion meaningless. Clutching at the life spilling from the dead weight in his arms.  
  
Hawke said something- but his heart beat is so loud he can't hear. She shouldn't be talking. Her lips stained red.  
  
“Shut up Hawke.” _You shouldn't talk._  
  
_I don't have any elfroot potions left._  
  
Pressure on the wound. Keep pressure on the wound and- and-  
  
Find the abomination. He can't have gotten far-  
  
Hawke interrupted his train of thought with a painfully wet cough. Blood bloomed from her lips. He pressed his hand to the wound, cursing his gauntlets.  
  
“Please Hawke.” Maker please.  
  
She looked up with eyes too far away. Red rippled across the battlefield distant and unimportant.  
  
“Fenris-” It's a whisper. Strained. Her hand brushed his cheek trailing over his nose.  
  
“Hawke-”  
  
Red flashed again brighter- He was knocked to the ground. Sudden cold under him. He blinked.  
  
The red was crackling like lighting from somewhere- The air felt hard to breath- wrong. Above; the red tore across the sky- Warped and twisted it. Like a seething wound. Colours all wrong. Whispers called at the edges of hearing.  
  
Hawke had been knocked from his arms in the fall.  
  
“Hawke!” Panicked and broken. Something sighed and it almost sounded like laughter. Like crying.  
  
The redness grew brighter- Darker- consumed his vision. The lyrium under his skin burned.  
  
All at once the world came back. The red green flickering something vanished like it had never been there at all. The air was sooty and unpleasant but- breathable. A silence had fallen over everyone. Movement came, muffled- People rising, coughing.  
  
“Hawke!” Fenris called. .Standing up, head bolting left and right. There were collapsed statues- rising companions. Templars encroaching on the field. Where Meredith had once been; a desiccated corpse remained.  
  
Hawke was right here. Right with him. Bleeding and dying. Now?  
  
A field of broken bronze statues- destruction- staggering persons rising from the ground.  
  
Hawke?  


* * *

* * *

   
  
He had been prepared to glean a greater explanation of the job when Marian arrived that morning. What he received was the most thin stretched plan of attack he had ever heard. Despite all his suggestions. She was adamantly set on this “plan”. Yet despite all his trepidation- He went along anyway.  
  
  
So what had transpired a moment ago came as no shock.  
  
Marian was moving quickly. The door to the foundry slammed behind him. She continued to drag him on down the stair before dropping his hand. She stomped away.  
  
There's a warmth under his collar. An irritation that has nothing to do with the uncomfortable wool shirt hes been force to wear. The lyrium in his hand feels hot- not painful, irritated surely. Like her had is still viced around his own-  
  
He flexed the hand reflexively.  
  
Her curse is harsh and loud. He can't help but agree with the sentiment. Botched.  
  
“That did not go as well as you thought, Marian-”  
  
This was a terrible plan. The only plan sans Hawke involvement perhaps. Perhaps he had not spent enough time trying to talk her out of doing this alone. She had an infuriating way of being, well- She was- something.  
  
It was a terrible plan all the same.  
  
And she's walking away.  
  
He has to rush to catch up. She's almost lost in the crowd. They need to talk about this. It is- If it is not completely ruined already. For all they know this Quentin could take this as a sign that it's time to move on.  
  
They need another go between. If Hawke can't be involved, than just, someone else. Someone to tail the mage while the other keeps an eye out for a warning. Then Marian can explore that hideout without threat of being caught, inside- or otherwise...  
  
Not a perfect solution by any measure. But there would be less risk. It's certainly a better starting point for her plan. So long as Marian does not still insist upon not involving anyone else. _  
  
_ Odd. All things considered. That he of all people would be the one she chose for this. It didn't make sense.  
  
_I trust you._  
  
  
She passed the hanged man completely and cut into the market proper without stopping or looking back. Several people actually jumped out of her path with frightened looks. Leaving eyes trailing after them both of them as she headed for the Hightown stair. So much for blending in.

* * *

  
  
She stopped finally in the square outside Hawke's estate. Somewhere inside he could hear voices muffled by walls and glass and doors. Busy.  
  
_Maybe Marian is intending to speak to Hawke after all._ Very abruptly given her earlier protests against the very idea.  
  
It would not be the riskiest job he had ever taken. Hawke was always throwing them against impossible tasks-  
  
Marian stood starring at the door for a long time. Long enough that it struck Fenris as off. Her hands clenched in fists at her sides- Shaking ever so slightly. Concern crept over his annoyance.  
  
“Marian?”  
  
She flinched. Pivoting to face him, blinking several times. Like she had looked at something too bright. Her eyes drifted to the door and back to him before she took several prudent steps away from it to stand by the shadow of a wall.  
  
“Well. That did not go as planned. Did it?” She landed a note off cheery.  
  
“No. I'd say it did not.” His words came out clipped.  
  
“You were right.” She sighed and pushed a hand over her scalp, “I didn't- I still don't want too many people involved, but so much for keeping him completely unsuspecting huh?”  
  
Fenris ignored the obviously forced lighthearted tone.  
  
“To start we'll need a scout, and it's certainly likely that the blood mage will be on higher guard now, If he does not abandon this lair completely-”  
  
“No. He won't leave.”  
  
Fenris resisted the urge to shout. To point out how fallible this logic was. Why would he stay if he were under threat of being found out. Or risking capture?  
  
She had a look. One of knowing but not sharing. Teeth clenched to stop herself saying anything at all more. He should question it. Press the issue. A person can make themselves believe anything if they repeat it often enough. Want to relive it enough.  
  
There had to be more to it than that. She knew something more. It was there in all the things she did not say. More than a woman out for justice for justice sake.  
  
“So you don't think we were completely believable?” She said it with a grin. He imagined a slight flush rise in her cheeks. He coughed.  
  
“I- could not say for certain.”  
  
She laughed. And it was lighter. Not forced. She glanced once pore upon the Hawke estate, looking determined again. As she had that morning.  
  
“So-” She started after a while, “We ask Isabela then?”  
  
“She would not be my first choice-”  
  
“Come on Fenris! Isabela can be a fantastic secret keeper.”  


* * *

  
  
He made his way back into his room. The long walk to the cellar loosening his muscles. Marian sat on the floor in front of his fireplace. Leaning against the bench. A small fire crackled in the hearth.  
  
The discussion with Isabela had gone over as well as he expected. She agreed to take part. Though had her own trepidation's when it came to not telling Hawke anything. Marian did not, however, use the not wanting him feeling guilty excuse.  
  
' _He might want proof- I don't have any.'_  
  
Marian never seemed to be one for sharing everything. Even before she drunkenly confessed some- things- only days ago.  
  
The same could be said of Isabela. Perhaps that explains the looks Marian gives her. Something of understanding passing between them.  
  
“Aggregio.” He held out the bottle. She looked up. Clearly lost in her own thoughts while he was gone. She took the bottle. He settled on the bench near enough too her to pass the bottle between themselves.  
  
“I think you could find a better occasion to crack this open Fenris.”  
  
“You looked like you needed it.”  
  
“Right. Are my emotions showing again?” She set the bottle down, rubbing at her shoulder. “I really aught to get those under control.”  
  
Sparring.  
  
It was... Excellent came to mind. She forced him to move in ways he wasn't accustomed. No ghosting across the battlefield.  
  
There's a chaos to her moments. She is harsh and fast. Never revealing her her moves, or pulling blows. Every mistake is felt. Working long unused muscles. Motions that cutting down hoards of gang members and cultists don't often drag out.  
  
She laughs when she fights.  
  
She has a thousand little motions. They all distract from her real intent. Derail. Steel time.  
  
“I get the impression that there is more to this- Killing a killer plot, or yours.” It's an edge. “Something personal.”  
  
She's rolling the bottle between her hands, the wax seal broken. She drinks. Silence interrupted by the clinking of glass against her nails.  
  
“You're right.” She curls in on herself, setting her shoulders elbows on knees. “When we left Ferelden, my siblings did't make it- The blight you know.” She waved a hand. “Then my mother. I was caught up in everything. In taking on the new world my friends got me caught up in. Saving strangers. Getting my nose in things. I wasn't paying attention- and then it was too late. He took her and-”  
  
She fell silent again. It stretched for a long while.   
  
The bottle passed between them.  
  
  
“I couldn't save her, and I can't let that happen again.”  
  
He slid to the floor beside her. Cross legged.  
  
I was painting an awful picture. A trail of bodies. Blame.  
  
They drank. The fire snapped a popped.  
  
He found himself talking. To fill the silence. To-  
  
He told her of the Fog Warriors. Of Seheron. Escaping.   
  
An emptying of things. Long unsaid.  
  
Hes not quite sure why.  
  
  
When she leaves for the night, hours later, she forgets to pack up their blades. Old and used. The leather on it's hilt worn down to a near perfect fit to his palms.  
  
  
 _'You look like him.'_  
  
  
When he bunks down in old sheets and furs in front of the smouldering fire, The beds in the house long lost to disuse, his thoughts are on her.  
  
A week ago she did not speak to him- Now?  
  
Fenris finds his thoughts lingering:   
  
  
Hours ago, when her breath was hot against his throat, her body pressed against his,  
  
  
and the way her eyes looked in the falling dark. Lit only by firelight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slides this in here before I can stop myself.
> 
> Also! ALSO! I have had a couple people offer to Beta?? And I honestly have no idea? how to respond to those sweet messages? Like you are so sweet and I really appreciate it!! so much! But I'm super impatient when it comes to posting????? It just feels like this hugely rewarding thing to type the last words into a document and chuck it out here. Where as like putting another person in there? like taking up someone else's time and effort. like ooo this is completely me just being me. but really Thanks so much for offering at all!!! right now I'm just going to continue posting as I finish. You guys are so sweet like honestly maybe eventually I will not be garbage. But today I am.


	16. One Bright Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finds the fade is a wonderful place. 
> 
> Not really.

The air was crisp, much cooler than was common in Kirkwall; my breath frosted. I stood in the midst of rolling hills, a forest of stark tall evergreens lost to winter surrounding, their limbs weighed heavy with white. Snow flakes fluttered in the air on slow whimsical descents. Clear icicles dangled from the floating branches of fruit trees laden with blossoms; Tangles of frosted cherry, plumb, and peach twisted around each other like half made wreaths, flowers glitter-frosted and trapped in time. Each caught in their own unique and lazy breeze.  
  
Couples walked by at a distance, arm in arm. Highly under-dressed for Fereldan winter. Their laughter and low speech lost in the notes of a sweeping and melodic song played somewhere far away.  
  
Soothing.  
  
There was movement from over a far hill, a figure walking down a cleared path from out of the white trees.  
  
Anders.  
  
He walked over the snow capped hill looking- More cleaned up than usual. A bright smile on his face, a rare rare thing, I felt. He stopped just short of reaching me.  
  
“Oh Hawke!” He waited a beat. My mouth felt suddenly dry, “I'm Just out for a stroll. Care to join me?”  
  
I felt heat rise in my cheeks, a flutter in my stomach. I looked down and the roughly stone cobbled trail at my feet.  
  
_Yes._  
  
Maker.  
  
Yes.  
  
I closed my eyes. The air brisk around me but not bitter. Comfortable, not freezing. Cool soft flakes of snow patting to my shoulders, dry as down.  
  
I opened my eyes. Anders stood with a hand outstretched. All expectant, that same smile on his face. A breeze ruffled his tied back hair.  
  
  
I can remember a hundred winter storms in the south of Fereldan. Chilled to the bone and soaked through. Winter is pretty. An idealic sort of beauty in imagining, but it's harsh, and hard in waking.  
  
I sighed, a puff of frost, like smoke dissipating into the too warm air. I do miss Ferelden. My surroundings held a close resemblance to the forest outside Honnleath where we once had a cottage. There was no stone path, just a well worn trail-  
  
It really is too warm for Fereldan winter.  
  
“Anders doesn't smile like that- and,” I pointed at the twisted tree limbs sprouting from nothing above our heads, “That just does not happen.”  
  
Anders quirked his head, smile widening, he reached up, the branch closest curled down. A blossom, shook off it's frost, dusting his fingertips- and a blood red plumb was quick to replace it. He plucked the fruit down, cradling it between palm and cheek.  
  
“Or- perhaps you've just never seen him smile like this,” A smug imitation of the real mans voice, a deeper rolling echo behind it, “because, oh- how he used to smile.”  
  
He sighed. Turning on a heal to stare almost wistfully out towards the trees. Hands, plumb included, clasped behind his back.  
  
“You've never met Anders-”  
  
“Oh but I think I have Hawke! Self centred, smart mouthed, a trouble maker with a rebellious streak a mile wide. Always smiling and ready with a snide remark all consequences be damned. Oh and does he have a way with his hands.” He glanced towards me at that, “Loved watching him turn into a giant spider too- then justice had to go and ruin a perfectly good mage.”  
  
He bit the plumb, lips reddened.  
  
“Shut up demon.”  
  
“Why so formal Hawke? You know me.”  
  
I walked away, off down the path miraculously clear of snow, and up a hill.  
  
It's Xuol. Aways is.  
  
Do other mages just get stuck with the same demon haunting their dreams forever?  
  
Around me many of the couples I'd seen walk by had crumpled motionless in the snow. Others were busily removing each-others clothes. Some had vaguely familiar features. I decided to keep my eyes ahead.  
  
“So, where are we off to then?” Anders voice followed after me. Lilting with the echos of something else melodic and low.  
  
I cut off the path. The snow crunched in that way that said it was perfect for fort building and snowball fights. Almost like it was whispering for me to stop and have a go at making a snow ball. I growled.  
  
“What? Do you not want to talk to me Garrett?”  
  
I kept going.  
  
“Wait. Wait. Wait! Garrett! Hawke!” A hand fell on my shoulder. I twisted away from the touch.  
  
“Don't.”  
  
“You don't want to wonder too far that way.” His voice twisted into several voices, the low melodic one most dominant.  
  
Ahead the trees were becoming twisted, shrivelled, and mangled looking. I picked my way through. Snow fading to a grey green waste filled with sharp fields of twisted almost trees-  
  
Before his island broke up completely to the raw fade there was something- Else. A buzzing, hum in the air. I could see the murky green of the fade sky here. No false allusions, but something was doing funny things to my vision strait ahead. Right at the edge of hearing, that half song was picking at my scalp. A rush of warm tingles down my spine.  
  
“You're losing your territory.”  
  
“Hmmph.” He trilled angrily. “It's been there a little while. Nothing I could do. Powerful whatever it is. Would hate to lose you to it.”  
  
“Sure Xuol.” I took a few steps closer. Leaving the crunch of the snow behind.  
  
“I'm serious. You want to come back.” His voice was laced with something like longing.  
  
The other noise, coming from the patch of, something, ahead was more melodic. Sweeter. Warming- Yet sad. A pull too it that was unsettling- tempting. Tendrils of the blur stretched and swam ahead, fuzzing and blurring whatever it crossed till they were consumed completely. Like a dense fog rolling across a field.  
  
All the while the sad laughter it made wanted me to go towards it.  
  
It's-  
  
A bad idea.  
  
A very bad idea.  
  
I turned back to the dream, and my familiar and non-tempting desire demon. For a single moment I thought I could see whatever it was- but it was just the consuming blur.  
  
Anders was floating a few feet from the ground, hair lose from it's tie. He seemed to have forgotten Anders lack of horns. A pair curled out from his temples and framed his ears. He seemed to relax as I made my way back to the snow where he had stopped. Reclining back on the air. I walked past. The snow crunch crunching under my boots.  
  
Back through the tall evergreens, my breath frosting again. I shook off the discomforting feeling whatever that was back there had left with me.  
  
The next moment Anders-Xuol was gliding along beside me, robe hanging loosely from hip bones- Shirtless. A trail of dusty blond hair lead down his belly and disappeared under the last bit of robe keeping him decent.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“Mmmmmm.” A half Anders, half Xuol hum.  
  
“I don't want to see that.”  
  
“But Gare. I know you do.”  
  
Xuol's horned version of Anders smiled. Snow catching in the loose strands of his hair.  
  
Moaning was coming from several places- As I made my way over a snow capped hill. The human like forms in states of near and complete undress were-  
  
Having at each other.  
  
Xuol doubling down his effort on this new illusion. None of the week half formed figures remained, none were slumped immobile. Several were becoming more familiar the closer I came. With a glance around I could see multiples in Anders visage, Isabela, Fenris- Others-  
  
It was hard to find a place to look without seeing them.  
  
Completely ineffective. I ignored it. Spectacularly. Walking ahead to where I think I stated.  
  
“Not going to enjoy the free show?” Anders-Xuol trilled. Hovering shirtless in front of me.  
  
“It's not right. You're invading their privacy.”  
  
“It's only your imagination.” I turned and marched off a few paces into the snow bowed trees. Heavy laden tranches brushing my shoulders as I went.  
  
I sat down on the snow that wasn't as cold as it should be, lay back and watched the passing clouds that were not real. I closed my eyes.  
  
I felt the brush of loose strands of hair on my face. Breath on my forhead.  
  
“Go away Xuol.”  
  
“Why don't you make me.”  
  
I did nothing. You don't do magic in the fade. Even dreaming. Attracts demons.  
  
Worse ones than Xuol. Though he has his own brand of awful. Desire demons...  
  
“So boring. Had you all riled up and blushing from ear to ear and- Nothing.” He puffed a breath in my face and moved off.  
  
A moment later I felt him drop into the snow beside me.  
  
“Hawke.” His Anders voice was perfect. “I know what you want. Just imagine us, the heat of our bodies melting outlines in the snow.”  
  
  
Lightning, like fire, Is chaotic. It requires sharper and more precise casting forms.  
  
“Don't do that. That's so tedious and boring...”  
  
I continued to ignore him and think through proper forms for casting lightning-  
  
There was a ruffling of fabric and belts and a flump of something soft falling somewhere off in the woods. Anders- _Xuol_ gave a satisfied sigh.  
  
I am not curious.  
  
I am not opening my eyes.  
  
This is not how I want to see Anders naked- I do not want to see him naked.  
  
“Oh. No- No- No. Warm breath against my cheek, “Don't lie to yourself. Don't you want to see?”  
  
“Shut up. I'm not going to make a deal with you just to see Anders naked.”  
  
“That's not all I could give you. You know-”  
  
Xuol fell abruptly silent.  
  
Something felt wrong. Pulling at the unspent reserves of mana in my core. Like a flicker of somone else magic. The desire demon shifted away.  
  
I sat up. The unpleasant feeling building, rolling over me. Melancholy. I tuned towards Xuol and was greeted by the naked back of Anders, which shifted, faded out till the muscled pale lavender form Xuol most often took stood there instead.  
  
He looked at me. Eyes black. Curling horns framing his face.  
  
The grove of evergreens trembled. Something almost like a voice was at the edge of hearing- or feeling- something familiar lost in the alluring _music_ , so quite you want to find the source. Pulling gently at me.  
  
Xuol looked frightened- Or as close as his features could come to it. All mirth gone.  
  
“You need to wake up Hawke. I'd ask you to take me with you- but we both know how this always goes.”  
  
“What?”  
  
The dream changed. Grey swept over the hills and the trees died. Black crumbled and burned. An imitation landscape ravaged by the blight.  
  
A ear spitting crack, thunderous, drowned out the voice-music-feeling for a moment. The ground split open next to me and I scrambled away on the shaking ground. Getting to my feet. Something moved bellow, down in the depths of the new wound in the landscape. Crawling from the dark, contorted and human like.  
  
“I don't know why you'd think dark spawn would convince me to-”  
  
“I know what you desire least as well.”  
  
I can't keep from looking down the pit. Like it's taken up everything. The darkspawn heaving themselves up the edges, below nothing but the dark.  
  
At least it's not spiders-  
  
A hand against my back. Footing gone.  
  
Craggy walls wiping past. Heads swivelling- jeering faces-  
  
Far above, black eyes and shadowed features. His lips pressed in a line.  
  
Down and down.  
  
Dark.  
  
Shambling sounds.  
  
The ground.  
  
Coming fast-  


* * *

  
  
  
I bolted upright. Gasping. Hands flailing in the dark.  
  
Pillows.  
  
Tangled sheets.  
  
It's not so dark either. To the right the lingering embers of last nights fire cast a warm dull light over the floor and the form of my great sleeping dog.  
  
Mabii snuffled in his sleep.  
  
Sleep.  
  
A dream. Brought on by Xuol.  
  
The desire demon that's haunted me since I was a teenager. A familiar forest- slightly altered.  
  
A deep sigh escaped me as I flopped back to the pillows. Nothing so alluring as a pit full of darkspawn.  
  
  
I tried sleep.  
  
  
It didn't come.

* * *

 

“Try it now.” Anders said.  
  
Something vaguely like knowing someone else is in a room with you when you can't see or hear them. At the other side of the connection I had opened. Tenuous. Strained. The spirit Joy? Compassion? I'm not entirely sure- Was not being one-hundred percent helpful. Encouraging and bright- asking nothing from me.  
  
But-  
  
Demons are far easier to understand.  
  
_Tsk._  
  
I twinged at the feeling, a ripple of disapproval less heard than felt. Please.  
  
A powerful urge to help with no direction flooding over me. Unwieldy. Un-quantifiable power.  
  
Another in my ongoing lessons to learn spirit healing. The clinc nearly empty. The assistants gone home for the night, just a few sleeping patients who needed to be here overnight. My own patient muttered in their sleep. Did not wake.  
  
“Okay.” Yeah. I can do this.  
  
“You can feel the spirits power. It wants to help. You just have to guide it.” Anders stood a step or two away from the cot I hovered by.  
  
One of Hubert Bartiere- Well- My miners. Their arm in a splint sleeping soundly enough. So much for the extra safety precautions I asked for since the last time someone dropped a load of rocks on another persons extremities...  
  
Bones.  
  
So much harder to heal than flesh wounds.  
  
I should probably ask Varric to poor some more of my funds into safety equipment-  
  
“You need to focus Hawke. The spirits energy knows where it's needed most. You just have to guide it there.”  
  
“You make it sound like moving a mountain of raw spirit energy from the fade into stitching a complicated fracture back together is easy.”  
  
“It is easy-” He took a step closer to stand next to me, “Well, for me. Try to think of it as your own mana just more- with focused intent. You won't be able to bend it to do anything other than healing.”  
  
His arm was warm next to me. Almost touching. _Bodies in the snow_ -  
  
Need space. Not a good idea.  
  
Hes said it before.  
  
Break your heart.  
  
I took a breath and closed my eyes.  


The only sound in the room the rough sleeping breaths of the injured on the cot.  
  
I raised a hand over the injured arm. Shaking maybe. I feel like I'm shaking.  
  
Nothing has ever been more unfocused.  
  
The spirit sent a shiver of warmth, like laughter, through me.  
  
A hand slid over mine. Warm. Electric with it's own so-much-closer connection to the fade. Justice. Sharp, precise, focused.  
  
“You're the guide here Hawke. You can do this.”  
  
My cheeks are flushed. I know they are. Draw the power down. Warm, bright- energetic-  
  
The blue glow on my hands cast strange shadows. Pain felt- known- as the magic moved forward, swelled and spread. A dulled put present ache. Spiralled crack. Magic mine and not mine, warm and cool and- seeking out the ache.  
  
The flowing pull of mana- Spirit magic, knitting, replacing bone and mending-  
  
My patient muttered, stirred slightly and fell back to the bunk.  
  
The connection thinned, I felt an unsaid goodbye, and broke, leaving me with the oddest sense of-  
  
_happiness._  
  
Anders didn't pull his hand away. As the light eased away. The room dull in it's absence.  
  
“I- I did that.”  
  
I laughed. I couldn't help it. I muffled it with my free hand- People sleeping- Anders hand curled around mine. A possibly absent gesture.  
  
“Yeah that was-” When I glanced up at him, beside me, warm brown eyes, his face so close to mine that it would take nothing at all-  
  
The door banged open at the other end of the room. I could feel the flush in my cheeks that might have already been there, hopeing- was glad for the beard covering half my face.  
  
The now hopefully healed miner game a shudder at the sound. Anders dropped my hand. A flicker of blue across his eyes as he turned for the clinic door which vanished just as quickly as I turned too.  
  
Two bloodied Individuals came shambling in Leaning on each other so that I can hardly tell who's holding up who.  
  
A beat of anguished breathing. A second long and drawn out. All the blood, crumpled clothing, shoddy armour and makeshift bandaging. Gang rabble obviously.  
  
  
Obviously.  
  
  
  
I rushed forward. Bone deep dread sinking in me as Marian and Fenris crumpled in the doorway.  
  
“Marian!”  
  
“-M Fine. Help him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a serious crush there Gare. Also Introducing an OC of sorts the desire demon Xuol [I'm pronouncing that zy-ull, almost like ya'll], hopefully he is tolerable, I didn't want to just toss a random desire demon in there. The fade is literally my favourite DA thing to write & it's always my favourite part of the games.
> 
> Also it's the fics first birthday tomorrow (and mine was on the 15th)!! 1 whole year I've been working on this!! and we're really just getting into the thick of it now. 
> 
> I also feel like I'm getting ahead of myself a bit too- with nearly all the chapters bullet pointed for SD, sans the last few (33 so far and I'm going to take a educated guess at around 34-6 total with the epilogue-ish chapters)- I keep making plans for the next fic(s) I'm going to do once this is done. Anyway I'm going to try and keep up the quicker pace I've been getting these out as of late.


	17. Paper Thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke makes irrevocable choices. At least she tries. 
> 
> Right?

Isabela is off. Following after Quentin through the crowd, just far enough behind to not be caught and not be seen. Her usual garb replaced with shabby armour alike to ours, just another of Kirkwalls common crooks.

We held back, Fenris and I. Tucked away from sight to avoid any chance of recognition since out first abysmal failure at attempting to enter the hide out.

This way, it all went off without incident. In then back out. All but the back tunnels completely explored. I ventured down for five minutes before turning back. They went on and on and I can only guess by the smell of salt in the air that they lead somewhere out to the coast.

Well the tunnels and the door. Locked. Behind which there could really only be a small room. The discomforting sound of breathing coming from within. I did not need to see to know what was behind that door.

Fenris waited at the bottom of the latter- Just in case. Isabela would signal us, a coin dropped from above if Quentin was on his way back.

I know the more times we risk coming the more likely he is to catch wind of us. For something to go wrong, that we'll miss something- leave things out of place. It's equally likely that something will go aims if we move to soon. If everything isn't prepared to spring.

We left the way we came. Rolling up a scroll of parchment on which I had sketched out a map. When we return next it will be to lay a trap and end this once and for all.

 

* * *

It's delicate, a neat and intricate thing. The thin band of barbed metal cool against my fingers. All Verrics ideas taken under advisement- his curiosity as to the why left un-sated in the making of this pressure trap. Crafted to hide neatly beneath a carpet beside a bed- half left unmade so he uses that side- and sleeps; Which is key.

It goes off, snares a leg- or both. I attack, one quick slash across the throat while he's pain blind and trying to pry the thing off his legs.

Easy.

It will be easy.

Two days since we were last down in that crypt. Everything is ready. I'm ready. We're ready. My fingers slipping out of the bag where the trap is secured.

“Kitten-” Isabela tapped my shoulder interrupting the steadily increasing tempo I had been drumming with the heal of my boot.

I loosened my jaw with a sigh. Suddenly aware of the number of unintentional motions. Good thing this isn't wicked grace. My impatience is bring out my old tells.

“You seem a little on edge. Maybe we should forget this trap of yours? Let Aveline handle it.”

“I'll be fine.”

“If you say so.” She exaggerated a sigh and adjusted the high collar of her tunic. “Ugh. How can you stand wearing so many layers?”

The three of us were tucked away in a narrow ally, Fenris farthest back and Isabela at the mouth. The foundry door in sight.

“I think some of us are just more mindful of the number of blades that are directed at us daily,” Fenris.

“You don't need armour when no one ever lands a blow. Besides I can name at least two people here who would appreciate it if you showed a little more skin.”

“I can name more than one trip to Anders clinic that say otherwise Bela.” I chimed in.

I kept my eyes trained on the exit to the foundry. Isabela leaned over too me, breath against my ear driving a shiver up my spine. “What does that have to do with getting our dear Fenris in a few less bits of armour?” Sultry and low enough- that if I didn't know Fenris hearing was impeccable- I would think he hadn't heard. His only indication was a maybe sharper than normal intake of breath. “Although I would-”

“Can we focus.” I cut across her a little louder than I meant to.

“Hey no need to be snippy.” Her tone all laughter. Then she drew back. Out of the corner of my eye she cast a smirk Fenris way. His reaction out of my sight-line.

“You know I -” Fenris started, but whatever he said was lost to me- or maybe he never said anything after that.

At that moment Quentin was in sight. There, headed up the short stair to the market.

“Right. I'm off then. See you both for drinks after this is all over.” She gave us a half smile turned and cut out towards the stairs.

Breath.

I hefted the extra bad on my shoulder, the delicate workings of thee trap prepared within. I look ed to Fenris. He nodded.

It ends today.

 

* * *

This place is much the same as it was three days ago. Picking my way forward and avoiding piles of filth where bootprints could be left on my way to the “living quarters”.

A quick assessment of the room to burn all the details in my mind marking out where we would be once the trap was laid.

All scattered papers, moth eaten carpets, stubs of candles, piles and piles of books and books on shelves shelves, the horror of a woman who looks much too like my mother hanging above the makeshift hearth- A page in particular caught my eye- a letter with neat crumpled scrawl sitting atop a stack of tombs. I've seen that before, but it wasn't here the last time we came-

I lifted the letter from it's makeshift table carefully. Glancing over the words- Of course it's familiar. It's the letter that was here then too... It's not any less anonymous now? Just a strange letter.

Something about it feels off.

More than it did before...

It's just?

I turned it over but the parchment on the back was blank. No seal, no name.

Something off. Familiar but wrong. Just out of reach. Leaving a cold feeling in my gut.

Letters-

“Marian.” Fenris hushed voice from a way behind me. Startling me out of whatever stupor I was lost in. Blinking I glanced his way. He flashed a copper coin.

“Right.” The letter was still pinched between my fingers, creasing the crisp parchment. Some part of me wants to tuck it away in a pocket and come back to it later- but no. Nothing out of place. No time for this. Trap not yet in place. “Can't risk it. We'll go out the back passage.”

I left the letter where it was. Fenris nodded once and fell in step behind me. Hurried but careful- passing the closed breathing door- always careful-

A muffled sob echoed from within, sending sharp prickles down my spine. The hinges squeaked, door shuddering in the frame against a weight on the other side.

“Marian?” A near inaudible breath from Fenris, A look- because of course he hears it too.

I didn't mention the breathing door. I didn't mention the thing behind the door. I didn't. I shouldn't know about it. Not really.

Just a murderer.

Just justice-

“Hello? Is someone else out there?”

No. No the thing behind the door breathes. It does not sob or speak- or-  
“please I know I heard someone- Please. Please. He'll come back. Help me please. Please I thought I heard something please anyone. This thing this thing-”

Silence; Ours. Rasping sob wrecked breaths, and the faint faint whisper of the other thing behind the door.

Frozen in my tracks. The voice was someone else. Someone else's, not mine. Quentin on the way back, maybe even already coming down the ladder. No time. A life in my hands and no time.

No time for choices. It's always choices. Piling on and on and on.

Letters at the writing desk. Crisp parchment.

Early evening- cloudy skies.

Somewhere I have to be.

Red light. Smoke.

Too much going on to fly on anything but instinct. Act not think.

Grinding metal and laughter and-

and-

-

Fenris hand on my shoulder. Light pressure. Underground in the devils lair with some poor woman weeping behind a door.

Fenris looks at me. Asking without speaking.

We can fight.

Silence. Motionless and breathing in time with each other.

We could save her.

We could fail.

I'm sorry.

I shake my head. Cold. Brisk. Final.

Fenris' hand falls from my shoulder. Nods towards the exits.

The two of us crept passed the broken lift and away from the breathing door, up into the passageways winding their way to the coast. The crisp sent of sea air letting me know they go anywhere at all.

Then we're running. Down into the dark.

 

* * *

Caves. Hours later; more caves. Dark and dark and darker.

I risked a torch- once the light from the well lit rooms behind us was long gone and even Fenris signalled that he could no longer see well enough to guide me. We were out of sight by now. We had to be- Unless Quentin went on casual strolls though these dank caves before committing atrocities- I did not see a reason he would follow after us. We left no signs. Isabela would have re-covered the hatch above.

I risked the torch, not yet speaking, Too soon to risk that- Or just-

There's a breeze. Light on my face a flickering the torch. Ghost like. The smell of the sea venting through.

Just how many tunnels to the coast does one city need?

We walked on in the dark. In the silence. Heavy.

Weighted by echos of something I can't let be. Choices that have to be made.

One life over another.

Justice is a joke.

My reasons are selfish. I know. Maker I know. I know. I know. I know.

 

* * *

Hope. The smell of the sea crisp and fresh- Hope that it's not some narrow impassible gap letting the air in. We have to be on the right track this time.

Fenris out ahead of me. He has better eyes for this. Really, I do not have night eyes this is a completely unfair advantage- So I kept the torch, staying a few paces behind. The gap between us letting us stay in silence.

Lets just go back. Take the plunge. Risk death. Clamped down between my teeth. Stuck in my throat. Caught in my lungs. A wild thought eating away at my insides. No.

I meant it when I said I want to stop anyone else from dying. I meant it. I meant it.

Ha.

Ha. Ha.

The silence is boding and heavy and I want noise.

I get the hush of the sea breeze, damp air, and darkness and the near silent foot falls ahead of me. Fenris in the dark.

Am I really so-

Threads- swaying, lit gold in the torchlight. Already broken when Fenris walked through.

Of course.

Always.

The tunnel widens out, meeting a larger cave. The webs increasing as we stepped out from the off tunnel.

Webbing old and white- and new fresh transparent; surrounding the walls- floor to where it was lost in the height of the ceiling, all criss-crossed with- spine crawling, stomach turning- webs.

A second later the click click chatter, sound of giant arthropod joints moving just out of sight. Glinting in the darkness above, Eyes. Too many eyes. Fenris was stopped at the mouth of our tunnel. He backed up a step to me- Un-slung his great sword.

“How many- give or take?” I spoke softly. Taking one dagger in hand, the other with the torch aloft. They are avoiding the light- for now.

He made a quick sweep of the room. Not looking back at me. Not a good idea to go torch blind. No.

“I count ten. There could be more.”

“Wonderful.” I said along with several choice curses.

A bloated spider, somewhere around the side of a large dog, all crackling limbs and eyes, slipped from above on a sick lace of corded threads. Landing with all the discomfiting grace of an arachnid. Right in the midst of it's cavey hall- blocking our way forwards.

Fuck it.

Disgust, fear, shame. Good fuel for hate. For anger.

A good hot feeling.

Maker do I hate spiders.

“This is sure to be pleasant.” I drawled.

Fenris hummed at that. Perhaps in judgement of my sense of humour, but I don't have time to ask.  
  
  


* * *

First dagger lost in a carapace, too slick with spider guts. Everything smells foul and oily.

“Shit- Fucking- Andraste.”

The second caught up in webbing. Too many spiders to stop and care.

I find my boot planted between pincers. A delicate dance of trying to prevent sharp fangs from breaking through the leather while trying to stomp it's head. Claw tipped legs latching onto my thigh before I've had a chance- A flash; Fenris blade cleaving the thing in half.

One. Two. Bow out.

Arrow finds a pincered face. Draw. Snap. Thud.

Fenris back in the thick of it. The web choked little cave eerily bright with his ghosting light. Fists through bodies and cleaving swings that send the bastards scattering on broken limbs- but they lip back.

Vicious fucking things.

Draw. Snap. Thunk. Draw. Snap. Thunk.

Need better range. A bow is useless if the things are on top of you. Backing over broken corpses and trying not to get caught up in the twisted limbs. Inconsistent light sources from the floor tossed guttering torch and lyrium throwing shadows. It's impossible to keep track of the things living or dead.

Fenris shouts something unintelligible.

Two of my shots catch in the clotted webbing across the room.

A slew of curses in Tevene- White hot lyrium light.

Glance- Fenris with a thrashing spider lashed onto his side, staggering him.

Bow raised. Blink. It's already dead. A hole ripped through it's insides unseen save the entrails clutched in a clawed fist.

A spider washed in blue light descending from above him-

Draw, snap, squelch, and again. Both meet their mark.

Fenris is shifting back with less grace than before. Spiders tossed aside rising on busted legs. Scrambling towards him- The dead one, arrow marked falls to crush one of it's friends.

The blue glow ceases. Light to dim to see much his way anymore. Legs rustling. Clackeling against stone towards me.

I have to trust he can hold his own.

No choices.

Just act.

Just do.

 

* * *

Tal-Vashoth. If it's not spiders, or dragons, or blood mages, or bandits- It's a long fucking list, but Tal-Vashoth are up there on the “things in this world out to get me” list.

On finally thankfully desperately- escaping the spider caves, battered and worse for wear- of course more enemies. Just waiting for us in the setting sun.

I'm going to have to re-think the shotty armour. Even with all my elfroot potions for the “just in case the trap goes wrong” part of the plan. The stab and keep stabbing side of the plan.

Next time we go hunting for a blood mage's head we are going armed to the teeth. We are calling the city guard. We a riding in on war horses.

All those potions used up after a fight with two dozen or so spiders- (Verric is going to hate me for not counting) and Fenris wound festering with whatever toxins the elfroot wasn't strong enough to purge out and-

Tal-Vashoth on the coast road back to the city and I am screaming. Cursing like the sailor I have never been. Even Isabela would blush rosy.

Dagger in face. My bow is a club now, metal and wood scratched and straining- Cracked a curled horn near off before bludgeoning a skull. So glad it's not my good bow as it splinters.

Flashes of blue, and streaks of steel in my peripherals. Feral snarling from all parties.

Fatigue is catching up.

Liquid gold, clicking crystal, stopper pops. Sweet smell- bitter taste; A rush of heat. I can feel my heart straining against my ribs.

Glass crunches under my boot as I spin out of the path of a cleaving blow. My remaining dagger raking the grey-brown flesh of the offending behemoth of an ox man. Lashing red across his chest. Cutting through ribbons of drawn out patterns on his hardened skin. Maring the sand.

Hitching a breath as he catches me on his back swing, shearing through shitty leather and good mail to rend flesh. Almost hear the blood patter in the vivid moment before pain burns up my arm from the gash. Red bright on my opponents blade.

“Fuck off.” Smoke bomb to his face, catching between horn and skull to hiss mercilessly in his face. Hes coughing and spluttering. I run. Retreat as the smoke billows over his form.

Two- Three on Fenris. Two archers on a hill. Six left. Only Six.

A breath to pull a lost dagger from where it's lodged in a fresh corpses eye. Skirting arrow fire- and in the fray again. Dagger in the back of one of Fenris combatants and lost again as the man crumbles.

The smoke is dissipating. I move.

 

* * *

I'm not sure if I'm holding Fenris up, or hes holding me, but our feet drag forwards- Down the winding streets. His colour is all wrong.

It took too long to get back into Kirkwall.

“Poisonous giant fucking cave spiders.” Is said. Focus on my feet- our feet and the weight on my “good” shoulder.

Fenris half laughs. Maybe a good sign. Maybe hes just not breathing properly.

We nearly died. Might still-

Thoughts drifting briefly to a room deep below the city- A woman's impending- current- passed- death.

If she had come with us she'd be dead anyway.

Ha.

Shit.

I bribe the lift operator. More than he deserves. No questions. No why or who or where. We were not here. He nods. No one needs to be asking why two void taken bastards were dragging each other into the bowls of the city instead of to a clinic.

Best clinic is in darktown. Shh.

Can't have anyone asking about that. Anders and Templars and all-

Fenris is saying something. It's not in trade.

This lift into is too slow. I'm not daring to let us sit in case we can't get up again. I'm definitely holding Fenris up-

Cranking gears and those belly flipping drops aren't helping matters any. We're almost there.

“Yeah. We're not dead yet keep all that only the living know victory stuff to yourself.” Half mumbled into his shoulder, as darktown comes into view- lift shuddering to a halt.

Somehow we get off it, into the filthy underground.

 

* * *

I'm on a bed. Or? A cot?

Cot. Darktown clinic. I vaguely wonder who undressed me and put me in a shift.

Memories are quick to flood back and I'm bolt upright, feet on the floor.

“Hey. Hey! Stay on that bed.” Anders.

There's a splitting pain up my leg when I put my weight on them fully. Spider? Qunari? Something dug deep at some point. My eye's close sharply. Flinching back down to a sitting position. Garrett mutters something. I feel down my bared leg. Well it's bandaged, and there's the wetness of fresh blood there but- It doesn't feel as bad as it did earlier.

I'm better than I was earlier.

“Is Fenris alive?” It comes out to serious to be a joke and my eyes are still closed.

“Yes. Sorry. We had to focus on him first when I realized it was spider venom. We can't heal your more superficial wounds without recharging first.” Anders not answering my question.

“Fine. I don't care about my wounds. Is Fenris going to be alright?”

“He's asleep now. Don't want to be here when he wakes up honestly I think this is the first time he's been in here for longer than ten minutes, looks like he could murder you even sleep-” Says Anders stopping when he looks up at me, then softer “but he'll be fine. Don't worry.”

It's instant relief. Then there's this part of me that feels a little bit guilty- Always like that around Anders. Always. Maybe it's because of the feelings he had or something that I can't put my finger on.

I open my eyes. He is two cots away and Garrett is next to him. There is the gentlest of blue lights in the air. Emanating from Anders hands.

He's got the smallest of, if slightly stressed, but present smiles on his face. And garret next to him looks- fond. Really fond. And oh-

Okay.

It's very very obvious. Does my face look like that? Such clear pining.

That's unexpected. I-

It's good. That's good for Anders. I wonder how far along this relationship of there's is?

Fenris is on the cot. My hearts in my stomach. Fell there suddenly.

Even passed out he looks like a ball of coiled nerves. The lyrium flickers the tiniest bit when Anders draws his hands over that barely there but still recognizable wound on his side. Armour all striped away. There- it's piled neatly on another cot, mine beside it.

I get up. Garrett protesting this time. Going to coral me but I limp passed him to the other side of the room and pick up one of the empty crates there. I can feel the wound complaining- with several others.

“You really shouldn't-” Garret tries.

“Shut up.”

I plonk the crate on the ground at the head of Fenris cot. Anders eyes me while I perch on top of it- with my hands around my pulled up knees. It brings me up to the right height to- well touch Fenris if I wanted to without standing. Fuck standing.

I want to be here. I don't care that anyone can see right now.

Fenris looks terrible.

I fucked up. This was a bad idea from the start. I should have- I should say something. Tell Garrett- if not everything than about Quentin at least-

“How long was I out?” I say instead.

“A while. It's the middle of the night.” Garrett says hovering by my shoulder. Anders hums in agreement. If I look at Garrett he'll ave that pinched look that says he wants to ask something.

Fenris flinches rather violently. My hand flicks out but stops half way from actually touching him.

I'm-

I let myself brush the hair away from his eyes. See the three lyrium dots there too. Refrain from actually brushing his cheek, a single lyrium free swash of skin, like I want to. Instead my hand rests on the cot by his head fingers curled in a fist.

I'm in love with him. I'm still in love with him.

That's-

That's just- Not fair.

And I just- He makes a painful noise. The lyrium flickers.

I touch his face. Brush my knuckles along the rise of his cheekbone. Breathe.

“Via victoria.” I mumble. I remember those words. Part of some greater line but I don't remember it or when he said it to me. Life. Victory. We didn't win but we didn't die. Mutter it like it's a reassurance. A mantra. Like he can hear me and maybe it will hurt less.

My hands are shaking. Anders looks at me. The light flickering out on his hands. He probably knows what the words mean better than I do.

Garrett's hand is on my shoulder. Don't.

“He's gong to be fine. You're fine.”

I look at him. He's still got that look. That I want to know what happened but I'm not going to ask- look.

Anders backs up a step. “You're in love with him.” He says it and sounds- Baffled. Like it's prosperous. He doesn't sound jealous and maybe it's that startling difference that shocks me enough to not stop myself.

“I've always been in love with him.”

That doesn't make any sence.

Damn it.

Garrett's hand flexes on my shoulder. He looks all the more like he want's to ask something. Like hes puzzling something together. The pieces don't fit.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't press at all and that makes me- I don't know. He should press. He should dig his fingers in and tare into every word I've ever spoken. I'm here shoving myself back into old habits and throwing others lives around trying to get revenge.

It's revenge.

I let a woman die today so I could assure myself that I could kill him another time.

Taking so many unreasonable risks when I could just tell them- everything and then just. It's done. We all go kill him. Mother lives. I-

I-

“I-”

I don't tell him.

  
I don't.

  
  
I can't.  
  
  
  


* * *

 The sun is going to hide for the night and we're just sitting in front of the blazing fireplace in his borrowed manse. Fenris and I. We left the clinic together this afternoon, and just came here. Mostly because neither of our injuries are perfect yet and he did not want to stay at the clinic. Safety in numbers and all that.

Opened a bottle of wine and sat, and talked, and opened another bottle, and were quiet with each other. There's a weight in that silence sometimes. Neither of us brings it up. Not yet. Maybe never. I said one thing and did another-

Other times it's nice. Calm. Like a cloak of something that used to be normal for me. We we're always good at comfortable silences.

At some point I've wound up on the floor. Head resting on the bench. Playing at Isabela's truth game. Bottle back and forth.

It's hard to ask questions when I know answers. I drink too much. I think. Should probably stop doing it so often.

The fire is smouldering and warm. Casting shadows that play over his sharp cheak bones. Off the dark glass of the bottle in his hand. I can't think of a question.

Ah.

“Would you want to kiss me?”

Silence. The fire snaps. The spark lands on the tiles and goes out. Embarrassment floods over me. Warming my cheeks. Hypothetically I want to ad.  
The wine bottle clinks as he sets it down drawing my eyes. Dark glass, flickering fire, molten oranges-

Fingers brush my cheek. I look away from the bottle and into his face. Oddly determined. Very close.

We're sharing the same breath.

His eye's are very green.

His lips are dry. A burst of warmth spreading through me from chest to- I can taste the raw spot where it was split yesterday.

His hand moves into my hair. Tangled there. He's half on top of me. The bench digging into my back hardly registers, until it actually scrapes against the tiles from the weight of us both and Maker I don't care.

The smothering closeness is intoxicating. Or it's the alcohol. I don't care. I don't care.

Fenris broke away. A joke comes to mind, I was going to say hypothetically you know-

I open my eyes and- The look of concern on Fenris face is shocking.

What? I blink. Bleary vision.

He daws a hand across my cheek again. Far too delicately.

Damp. He's wipeing the tears away from my other cheek as well. Face still pinched with concern and diving towards- I don't know what to do here concern. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Fenris I-” I don't know. I don't know. The warmth is dissipating faster than it came. A cold hard stone in it's place. Buried deep in my gut. Shaking at the tipsy part of my brain.

All those questions I can't ask cause I already know the answer's. I already know the answer.

Not real- but that's wrong too.

This isn't right.

Hes not-

How many lies-

I-

Hes leaned back against the bench on the floor. Wine bottle in hand again. He takes a drink.

“I am-”

“Don't apologies.” I cut him off. He holds the bottle out to me and we don't really look each other in the eye. I take it. “Thanks.” I can't seem to stem the slow trickle of tears.

“Are you-” he pauses stares into a corner, “alright?”

The contents of the bottle swish around in my hands.

“No.” I take a drink. “I am a terrible person Fenris.” I say, because it's the closest to a truth as I can find.

He seems to give into the omission. Nodding. He takes the bottle from me. Catches me hand in his.

“Aren't we all.” he says before he drinks.

And I let him take the hand. Because I am exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO! I said I was going to try to keep up a faster pace with updates but this chapter kicked my ass. Like it was just one of those parts that didn't want to be written. I was half-finished when I last updated and then? Just? Like this was the chapter where X & X needed to happen but it did not want to come together. Bleh. Sort of really okay with parts of it through now that I've had time to look over it multiple times. Cause it was mostly the end there holding me up. 
> 
> Better news the next 3 chapters are all already underway- and were nearly out of the current arc so- hopefully I don't waste a whole month like I did getting this one to you!


	18. Oblivion Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke meets a man in white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol abuse and emetophobia (non descriptive) warnings for the chapter heads up.

I am incredibly just.  
  
I am a pinnacle of honour and duty and chastity and restraint.  
  
I respect all boundaries and tell no lies.  
  
The justice is in the fact that I left after holding hands with a certain elf for a few minutes. Mumbled our goodbyes and never talked about the things that happened. We probably should have. Lots of things need talking about.  
  
Yeah. Right.  
  
I am justice. I put the real justice to shame. Watch me.  
  
And this glass in my hand is cooled with expensive expensive ice. And it is worth it.  
  
Jethann smiles sheepishly at me from across the room and I know the act like the back of my hand. I have eighteen scars on my left index finger and Jethann knows how to seduce customers. He looks younger than he has in years. Years. Years and years and years. Those hand scars are actually incredibly distracting-  
  
I am incredibly bad and five finger filet. It was an- incident. I could tell him about all the scars. Over and over and not feel bad that's I've told him before. That we've had this exact conversation before. Because he won't really care. I could tell him I was stabbed and I don't remember how, that I woke up in a gutter and I wasn't me anymore. He'll croon and pet my hair and ask if I actually want to have sex and I'll just--  
  
Drink.  
  
Oh. The stuff here is so much better than at the hanged man. So sweet and perfect and refreshing. I let a small smile creep across my lips. Wink in his direction. I make no plans to stay here tonight. I am going to go home. I-  
  
Am going to get fantastically drunk. I am swathed in a code of morality and honour tighter than a chantey sisters breeches. I will survive and if I don't a brothel keeps it's secrets. They come in. They don't go out. Unless you have weapons and quick words and a need to rout out a blood mage.  
  
Ah good times.  
  
Morally high and never faltering standards non-withstanding, I know the way this works. I have paid him for the routine before. Flirt with me and let me thinks it's real, only then I'll laugh and fall back on the dirty comfortable, so filthy, bedspread and joke with him about nothing because he'll take money to listen and sometimes you just need to talk for hours an waste all your gold.  
  
What? He entertained a woman who held fantasizes about being lurched out of time? What a wild kinky bastard. What do you mean she didn't have sex with you? How dare she. You are a breath of fresh air.  
  
Smiling. By myself at a table in the rose. I'm not going to pay Jethann to talk to me. To pretend we had sex so I can vent into a void. Ah if I stand up I will wobble. And no one wants to pretend to have sex with someone who is actually this drunk.  
  
I flirt with eyes across the room anyway.  
  
I still can't assuage that niggling guilt eating it's way up my insides. So I tip back the last of my drink and wave for another.  
  
A new quest, oblivion.  
  
Porfiria saunters over. All hips. Small talk. Wine.  
  
I know. I know in my heart of hearts this is my last moment of clarity. From the vivid awareness of the clean tablecloth, black and red, to the flickering candles in the dozens of chandeliers. My servers hips, her and legs weaving back to the bar. This last little window of conscious thought, that little 'Hawke no' in a voice that I don't want to hear right now, before the wine hits my lips.  
  
You, Hawke, you are not going to remember tonight. But you will enjoy it.  
  


* * *

  
  
I wobble to the sound of music drifting from some far off manse and the peeping of frogs in courtyard ponds that I can't see. It's fantastic. I run the fingers of my free hand through the rough foliage of some cedar hedging. Not falling over. Ha ha.  
  
Something screams-  
  
I jump. Of course I do. Amber sloshes to the pavement at my feet. The things take off shrieking what can only be bird expletives. Andraste fucking birds. A single feather takes all my attention as it drifts to the ground. Rests. Ugh look at all that golden and good down there on the and... I sigh. Stones could use a drink I suppose. No harm. It's fine. I'm fine. We are all fine. No need to be distraught.  
  
I really want to go home to bed.  
  
But-  
  
Oh I can't go. I can't.  
  
Mother hates me.  
  
The rest of the bottle goes; tilting out of my hand, shattering spectacularly in a rain of gold and glitter.  
  
Andraste no.  
  
I did not mean to do that.  
  
Hm.  
  
All feet and steps, crunching glass. Motion. Darkness. One step, two and on and on- and leaning into the sparse decorative shrubbery once or twice along the way when balancing is hard and.  
  
And I'm wandering passed other dwellers of the night. I look as frightening as they.  
  
  
And.  
  
  
And There!  
  
Like an electric shock through me. It's there! For a moment that feels wrong. She is gold and towering. Andraste, her steps, the building scraping the sky.  
  
Feet. Steps. Stumbling. Humming a shanty tune to myself I make my way up the Chantry stairs.  
  
I need to-  
  
That little terrible thing I did. Am doing.  
  
I want to do it again.  
  
I miss him.  
  
I?  
  
Laughter comes up like vomit. Echoes in the empty high town streets. A pigeon off sleeping somewhere coos fussily at the noise.  
  
I take my lean to the the mid wall, dividing the two stairways, and their million billion steps. So many stairs to the door of my salvation. Who builds a city with so much height?  
  
Step. Step. Careful.  
  
I Trip. I want to cry. Bloody banged up knees. The stitches in my hip protest. Shhhh. We're going. Not giving up. Corruption something something just and will not falter. Up I go.  
  
I'm going to stand on the Maker's doorstep and before the eyes of Andraste and let them smite me.  
  
Good. Perfect plan. Full of them, me.  
  
Just really don't- I really shouldn't pitch backwards down these stairs first. That would be ill advised I feel woozy.  
  
Huge doors, and the little door, the eye in the needle. A sharp rectangle in a pair of arched Giants.  
  


Stairs managed. My palm flat against each of the tall arching gates and--

  
Shove-  
  
A screeching rumble of straining hinges, resistance, and-  
  
locked. Push. Still locked.  
  
Is it that late? I guess it's that late.  
  
What is a door to the Makers light. A door won't prevent. This.  
  
I slip a blade out of my belt, thin, for trap work. Then I drop it.  
  
Ugh.

* * *

The blade is broken off between the two huge doors. Belatedly I realize that the attempt was useless. There's a cross bar holding these gates closed and I had just a tiny tiny knife.  
  
Such a good knife.  
  
I'm crying. I don't want to be crying about a knife. I don't want to be crying at all. I am here to see the Maker. To confess to Andraste my sins. I will not be stopped by a door.  
  
“Andraste!”  
  
I make a fist around the hilt of my broken knife. White knuckled. I just want in The Chantry. I just need in here. Just let me in.  
  
It's loud. A shuddering hollow sound. Knocking the hilt of the blade to wood again and again.  
  
“Let me in!”  
  
Silence.  
  
I bang again. More knocks this time and I don't stop. I can feel them ringing up my arm.  
  
“Why would a Chantry be closed at night? Don't you know people need you! That your supposed to be there! People trust you ass-holes to be there and here you are! Let me in! I want to confess!”  
  
I let out a scream of angry curses. Palms resting against the door. I don't want to stand up anymore. So I lean. Leaning. Leaning-leaning. My face so close to the wood I can see the grain. Cold metal against my forehead where I rest it, a masterwork of metal emboss. So pretty in the daylight, the rich Chantry fuckers and all their bronze and gold. My fist duly banging on the hollow surface. Then I'm pitching forwards- Hands trailing down the moving surface swinging away from me-  
  
Ahh.  
  
Knees meet ground.  
  
I have to shield my eyes at the sudden light as I look up. I am met with the white and gold face of Andraste herself.  
  
Huh-  
  
I crane my neck. Blinking. A man. Towering. Tall. Too tall. One hand on the door. The other holding aloft a single tapper. The Chantry is dark behind him, but the door is filled with light. His robes so pristine they almost glow. My gaze falls again to the face of Andraste cinched around his hips on a belt. It's-  
  
Absurd.  
  
I can't stop the laugh that escapes me. Andraste answered the bloody door! I'm choking on the laughter. Half curled on myself till I'm sobbing.  
  
It's a while.  
  
There's a hand on my shoulder. Gentle. Uncurling me from myself. He squeezes my shoulder.  
  
“What brings you to The Makers door?” he says softly. Starkhaven heavy in his accent. Down on one knee in front of me sullying his robes with the dirty stone. He's still so tall, tan faced, his eyes too blue.  
  
His arms gently coaching me to standing. Everything is spinning a little. Too much all at once. I frown. I feel disgusting. Everything is swimming- tear streaked. A warning is kicking me in the back of the skull- Then the contents of my stomach are on his expensive looking boots.  
  
Sorry Starkhaven. Sorry boots.

* * *

  
  
There's a stone bench beneath me. Cool to the touch even through my clothes. Starkhaven is fumbling in a compartment on the other side of the small room- closet. Speaking half conversationally but i'm not in a place to try and respond. My eyes wander a bit, shelves full of copies of the chant of light. Candles stored in bins- Looking around is not so nice. I close my eyes and slide fully onto the stone seat. Pressing a cheek to the cold surface. My brain feels like sludge. Working through thoughts like- Like? Ugh. My stomach is even worse, hands curled around my guts like that'll make it feel any better.  
  
Starkhaven is saying something again. I open an eye. Hes setting a bucket by my bench. He has another an a mop in the other hand.  
  
\- I'll be back in a moment.” Is all I catch before he heads out the open door to the storage room. I breath a few times trying to settle my stomach. Nope. No.  
  
This is terrible.  
  
I frown. My memories of how I got here, to The Chantry, are vague at best. Ugh.  
  
Why did I do this to myself? Oh. Yeah. That.  
  
That.  
  
I throw up again. In the bucket this time. It smells. I want to leave. I don't want to be here. I want to go home. I don't want to get up either.  
  
Strakhaven returns, his boots I see first. Different- less expensive, cloister boots. I look up at him. It takes a moment he's so tall. His belt buckle glints in the light of the torches. My eyes hurt, stinging right through to the back of my head.  
  
My throat feels raw. Sorry about the boots I want to say.  
  
“Sorry aba-the Boots.” Scrapes out.  
  
“Boots are boots. You need no forgiveness for that.” There's a note of piousness there that irks me.  
  
“Mm.” I close my eyes again and press my face farther into the stone.  
  
“If you're feeling well enough, I've brought you water.”  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
He laughs at that. Gently. I make the effort to sit up. Carefully twining my fingers around the mug he offers me. Secure in my hands I sip. Shuffle the water around between my teeth before spitting it out into the fouled bucket. I slide it away with a toe. I won't be needing it again. I don't think.  
  
Drinking slowly. Mind working well enough to take stock- My bag is still on my hip. Thankfully.  
  
My saviour has taken to kneeling again, so our heads are level. He lets me drink the rest of the water before taking the mug away. Hes built muscular. Strong shoulders. Most Brothers of The Chantry don't look so much like archers. Not that there are many brothers to begin with.  
  
“I won't ask how you found yourself in such a state, but perhaps it's not too much to ask why you were trying to break in to The Makers House?“  
  
“I'd tell you if I knew, but I think I may have just gotten lost.”  
  
He gives me an understanding frown.  
  
“The Maker has a path for all of us. Even if we have yet to find it.”  
  
I snort. It makes my head ache a little worse.  
  
“Not one for The Makers words are we?”  
  
“He's shoved my face in the dirt a few to many time for me to trust him at his word.”  
  
He nods sadly.  
  
“I think-” I start, not really knowing where I'll go with it, “I wanted to make a confession. You know. Tell Andraste how badly I'm fu- Messing everything up.”  
  
“Would you want to make confession to a member of the faith?”  
  
“Mm. What are the- rules, there?”  
  
“You're confession would be taken in confidence. Our sins are our own to bear and repent for, I can only advise you on how to seek absolution through faith. Unless you are confessing to a crime, If which case I would have to encourage you to submit yourself to The Viscounts justice.”  
  
“Nothing so bad as that. Though I may have straddled that line once or twice... I think Kirkwall does that to a person.”  
  
“Kirkwall does have a turbulent history.”  
  
“Doesn't it?” I laugh a little.  
  
Opening my bag to fumble for a potion. Elfroot or embrium or both. I'm spectacularly lacking for anything. Oh yes. I need to re supply. I let my head rock back to the wall. Can't cheat my way to sobriety and stop this conversation.  
  
“Do you still want to make that confession?”  
  
“You can't tell anyone what I tell you.”  
  
“Not a word.”  
  
Right. Where to start? Hm. Yeah. Be vague.  
  
“I'm not who I say I am. Not really. I lie so much to cover that up.”  
  
He stands up and goes to shut the door. Closing the pair of us in the store room made reconciliation room. Opps. He walks back over and takes a seat on the other end of my bench. Attentive. I find my face in my hands. Not really looking at him or anything. Letting my vision become static and shapes with my hands pressed to my eyelids.  
  
“I have this whole elaborate backstory I've made myself. A cliche tragedy where everyone I loved has died. That's half true. I don't know what happened to most of them really. If I trust the Dalish they are completely beyond my reach. I do trust them. So what's the point in caring about what I used to be. I can be something else can't I?”  
  
“The Maker very rarely answers.” Starkhaven says after a long stretch of silence. It hits me that I don't know his name. Maybe that's for the best.  
  
“What happens if what I tell you sounds impossible?”  
  
“I'm only here to listen.”  
  
“My brother believes hes my brother. That I'm his bastard sister. Made them think that our Father abandoned me and my Mother. A Mother that doesn't even exist. Not the way I've made her up. I told everyone she was a pastry chef. How absurd is that? My mother couldn't bake, she could barely make soup.  
  
“I love these people. I've know them for years, and then years again as someone they don't know. They are my family. The one I made after I lost my real one. When my brother, who isn' really my brother because hes actually- He's sort of me. Not really but- I was him. The house, the family, the friends, even the dog. I lived that. That was mine.” I'm a little upset. I haven't wanted to admit that I'm upset about that-  
  
I take a glance at Starkhaven. Who has stolen his expression to one of forced serenity.  
  
“You don't believe me.”  
  
“It's not my place to jud-”  
  
“It was magic. Some kind of magic. I don't know. I got throne back in time. Or replaced. I can't remember how it happened. Some terrible fucking fluke. I tried to figure it out. For years I held onto that. This idea that there was some way for me to go back. I couldn't understand half of what I read on the subject.” My head hurts. I know some of my words are slurring. “I don't care if you believe me.”  
  
“I'm sorry.” He takes a breath, like hes steeling himself, “Perhaps I'm not the best person for this confession. It sounds to me like you want to stop lying to these people.”  
  
I laugh bitterly.  
  
“I wish I could. I don't want to hurt them.” I don't want to hurt him and I don't want to hurt Garrett. I don't want to lose them all all over again. “How do I undo this?” I'm talking with my hands like I'm pulling something apart. My feet feel too still. I want to move but I don't trust myself to walk yet.  
  
“Why did you feel the need to lie in the first place?”  
  
“I didn't know what was going on when it happened. I was hurt and people I knew were there but acting different, going through the motions of events that already happened, and maybe I'm not exactly an honest person to begin with. It just- I just- I reacted in the situation. Thought, well I already slipped up, best lie my way out of explaining the impossible thing I am currently a part of till I figure out what the hell is going on.”  
  
“I can imagine such a situation would be overwhelming.”  
  
I'm laughing again. Less bitter. I can hear the brokenness in my own voice.  
  
“I want to go home.”  
  
He nods.  
  
“Do you feel your confession has absolved you of your sins in the eye's of the Maker?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“But your done talking about it.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks. I'll just- See myself out.”  
  
“Wait.” He rests a hand on my shoulder firmly, it's enough to keep me seated. “I can't in good conscience let you go out alone.”  
  
“I can-”  
  
“You're drunk. Wait here a moment and I'll be ready to accompany you.”  
  
He leaves the room after making sure I'm not about to bolt. I want to. I feel like garbage though, and Kirkwall is not friendly at night. Or during the day but whatever.  
  
So instead I stand. To make sure I can stand. I can feel the fog of drinking still on my brain. Aware that I'll be mad at myself for telling anyone- even a priest- anything at all when I wake up hung over in the morning.  
  
I'm staring at a wall trying to stand up strait. So many books.  
  
“How far will we be going tonight?”  
  
“Hanged Man. Lowtown. You don't need to accompany me.”  
  
When I actually turn to look at him-  
  
That is the brightest armour I have ever seen, and yes; A bow.

* * *

We- and by we I mean Starkhaven had to incapacitate some gang members on the way here. It was actully still rather buzy out on the streets. So it can't be as late as me being so shamefully drunk would imply. If I were in the shape too. I would have killed them. The Chantry Brother saw fit to spare them. The righteous bastard.  
  
The door to the hanged man swings inwards to a warm glow. Buzy patrons glancing my way. Familiar faces nodding. I give Corf a wave over the busy counter on my way through. He blinks at the man who must still be following me.  
  
“You aren't walking me all the way to my room.”  
  
“I think that's best, but no farther than the door. I just don't think it would be wize to let you drink any more tonight.”  
  
I laugh loudly. Honestly. Walking backwards to face him. The crowd will part behind me. I'm an arse.  
  
“Chivalrous sort arn't you?”  
  
He only smiles at that, and I bump my ancle into the bottom stair. Landing on it on my way down.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
“Some of us need to be.” He lends me an arm. I take it chagrined.  
  
“Then help me up the damn stairs.” He does. All chaste courtesies. I think I like him. I usually don't like pious folk so much. It might even be sad when I never see him after tonight.  
  
Laughter greets me at the to if the stairs, and the gaping door to Varics rooms. I take a few steps forwards still leaning a little on Starkhaven before my brain catches up. I don't want to be seen like this.  
  
A card game between everyone. Not a single friend not in attendance tonight. Merrill is not paying attention to the card game. She sees me and smiles. Waves me in. I don't step forward. He smile gets wider. Motion even more distracting. Isabela and Varric both look up.  
  
Fuck.  
  
“Andrates Tits.” I mutter.  
  
Starkhaven coughs.  
  
Run. Just bolt down the hall. I've let go of my human crutch.  
  
“Sebastian what about your vows of chastity!” Isabela calls. I freeze.  
  
“They are still well in place.” Starkhaven says back sounding almost affronted.  
  
“Just smite me where I stand.” I mumble. “That's what I went to the Chantry for I remember now.”  
  
Of all the fucking priests. Maker damn it. I turn back to the room full of people. Emboldened by my own stupidity.  
  
“Oh! Sebastian!” Merrill trills. I walk- stagger into the room. Lean to the side of the door. Ahh. Fenris is here. Hawke turns his chair away from the table. Anders frowns.  
  
“It's good to see all of you are well.” Starkhaven says, like maybe he doesn't mean all of them.  
  
“Where did you pick up our runaway?” Verric asks. He sounds like he knows something.  
  
“Ugh.” comes out of my mouth instead of staying in my brain where it belonged. Verric chuckles. Fenris is looking at me. Fenris is looking at me. Starkhaven- Sebastian gives me a sympathetic look. There's something there in his eyes too. Shit, fuck, fuckers.  
  
“She was attempting to break down the gate of the Chantry.” He says it with a note of humour.  
“Oh?” Aveline raises a brow.  
  
“It's not like I succeeded,” I still sound piss drunk, and mumble the rest to the floor. “The Chantry shouldn't be locked at night anyway.”  
  
“No harm was done.” Sebastian quells the wrath of Aveline.  
  
“Since when did you turn pious Marian? I'm shocked.” Isabela waggles eyebrows.  
  
I glare daggers.  
  
“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.” Comes out with a hint at double entendre. Isabella's eyes widen for a moment, it clicks, and she doubles over with laughter. Starkhaven sighs. Anders rolls his eyes with a half smirk. Fenris takes a long drought from his wine. Merrill leans over to ask Aveline something, I can almost feel the sigh more than hear it. Before the mumbled I'll tell you later.  
  
“So what brings you to the Hanged Man Sebastian?” Garrett is picking at the back of one of his cards lain faced down on the table.  
  
“Ah-” He looks to me, “I thought it was best to not let Marian come back without escorted.”  
  
“She is not one to need protection.” Fenris.  
  
“That's undoubtedly the case I'm sure, but given the circumstances-”  
  
I am using the wall to sand.  
  
“What hes saying is that staying upright is a challenge at the moment.” I pat the wall I am currently reclined against.  
  
“Didn't see you at the bar tonight.” Isabela laughs.  
  
“Of course not I went to The Rose.” I say. I say because I like to shove my feet in my own mouth. Fenris raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Marian.” Anders scoffs like hes to about to go on about the risks. Garretts mouth is a hard line but his eyebrows are going places. Even Merrill doesn't look confused. Aveline and Verric have the courtesy to look away from me.  
  
“Well, well, well.” Isabela smirks. “Didn't think you had that in you. Did you have it in you?”  
  
“Isabela!” Hawke Chides. Isabela chortles at that.  
  
My hand smucks to my face. Sebastian looks uncomfortable.  
  
I look at Fenris. I can't read his expression. Which means hes hiding it.  
  
“I did not sleep with anyone.”  
  
“No need to be prude.” Isabela continues, glancing none to subtly at Fenris, “All that dancing around each-other, someone eventually had to get off.”  
  
“The liqueur at the rose is infinity better that the swill here, firstly. Secondly- Secondly there is no secondly I wanted to drink and that's it.”  
  
“Alright. No need to tie yourself in knots.” Isabela waves a hand. Letting up. I only vaguely recall what I did do at the Rose but it wasn't that. A lot more drinking and there was a game of wicked grace...  
  
“Ask Brennan and Maecon if you really don't believe me. They are both terrible gamblers.” I let a smile crack. Sebastian has a hand over his face. No Starkhaven I am not a pious woman in the slightest. Sorry to let you know.  
  
“They weren't.” Aveline exasperated. For a second I feel bad about outing the guardsmen. Then I don't. I think I lost both those hands.  
  
“I'm afraid nothing is sacred or free from the sins of the flesh.”  
  
Multiple people sigh. I have Isabela in stitches and Varric chuckling. Garret is halfway between letting himself laugh and looking disgusted. I get a coin chucked at me and don't have the reflexes to dodge. I join the laughter.  
  
Sebastain puts a hand on my shoulder.  
  
“I need to be heading back before it gets too late. I trust you won't let her drink anymore tonight, Hawke.”  
  
“How could I deny a request from royalty?” Garret rolls his eyes.  
  
“What?” I look from Garret back to Starkhaven- Sebastian.  
  
A Starkhaven Sebastian. It clicks.  
  
Sebastian Vael? One if the assassinated princes?  
  
I'm staring at him. Rudely probably. He gives me a humble smile.  
  
“I thought all the Vael's were dead.” I blurt. They were dead. I thought. They were. Ugh. Maybe that's not the case here.  
  
He flinches a little.  
  
“That is true. I am the last of my name. I gave up my inheritance when I joined the cloister.”  
  
“That was after the murder attempts and the revenge plot. You can't just leave out the interesting parts.” Varric says.  
“Tale spinning was never one of my strengths.”  
  
“Sorry for your loss,” awkwardly tumbles out.  
  
He smiles halfheartedly.  
  
“Thank you.” He squeezes my shoulder gently. Sympathetic. “Have a good evening,” he says to the room. Quieter leaning down towards me, “Marian if you ever again need the Maker. You know where to find me.”  
  
A chorus of varying goodbyes follow him.  
  
I am left with the slow and awarely drunk realization that I confided in one of my brothers friends the fact taht I'm lying through my teeth about everything that I am. Fuck.  
  
“I'm going to go to bed. I'll probably see whoever still here in the morning.”  
  
“Wait you never told us why you decided to waste good money not sleeping with people at The Rose.” Isabela is looking at her hand again.  
  
I glance at Fenris. Who is still looking at me. I shrug and try not to look like an embarrassed mess.  
  
“Gnight assholes.” I turn for the door. Merrill in Garrett wish me a good night.  
  
“Tell me next time you decide to get drunk so far from home. Can't count on princes in glaring armour to save you every time.” Varric says jokingly. I know he actually means it.  
  
I chuckle on my way into the hall.  
  
“Such a Dad.”  
  
“I heard that.”  
  
Isabela wolf whistles when I'm half way down the hall leaning on the wall for support. Maker I'm drunk. Muffled foot falls sound behind me. My heart beat picks up.  
  
“Marian.”  
  
I turn a little too fast and a gauntlet clad hands catch my shoulders. Which urns me a sigh. I meet his eyes. He looks serious.  
  
“Are you well?”  
  
“Just drunk.” I shrug under his hands, which he removes, “It happens.”  
  
His claws curl at his sides. Maybe he wishes he didn't remove them either.  
  
“We were together only a few hours ago.” He is not meeting my eye. Ah. I've never been this drunk around anyone. The over the blackout and-came-back- end of drunk. Couldn't fight in a pintch drunk.  
Deciding to ruin yourself after being kissed, crying and being kissed, probaly doesn't come off as a good sighn.  
  
Ha.  
  
Symptom not the cause.  
  
Don't you realise I love you.  
  
“We're fine Fenris.”  
  
“You are important to me.” He looks at me instead of the hall behind me. “I have little experience with- this. If it was rushed- I do not want to hurt you.”  
  
The only one hurting anyone is me.  
  
“I asked you to kiss me and- I feel the same.”  
  
We're close together. I reach out and take his hand hold it between both my own. Scroll over the joints and dents in the metal with my eyes.  
  
I want him closer to me. I want him to stay. but-  
  
There's something I should probably tell you. There's something I should probably tell you. There's something I should probably tell you.  
  
I keep opening and closing my mouth.  
  
There's something I should probably tell you.  
  
-  
  
“Come sleep with me,” comes out.  
  
His hand moves reflexively, breath stops for a second too long. I can't look up from the metal points. That was a really foolish thing to say like that. So easily misinterpreted. Correct it. Mouth open again. Trying to find words.  
  
“Marian, you are drunk.” He sounds a little insulted. “I wouldn't-”  
  
“No. Sleep. Sleep-sleep. I know I'm too drunk for sex. I mean if you want to stay the night with me. I know that-” Might be too intimate. Right now. So soon. That might be worse than sex.  
  
Fuck. I am drunk.  
  
There is warm metal against my cheek tilting my head up. While the other de-tangles from my knotted hands. Before lacing through one of them.  
  
“Till you fall asleep.” He concedes. Warmth spreads through my chest.  
  
We were always good at meeting half way.  
  
“Okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought we said we were done with the drinking Hawke? Hawke?  
> Also poignant drunken statements are poignant. 
> 
> Apologies to the Catholic church I have no idea how confession actually works. Also for the sake of this fic all of sebs stuff happened in act 1 and Marian knows ziltch because she never met him in her timeline (it can happen). If hes a little occ thats cause I'm taking liberties and just letting him be a brother of the Chantry. I've been excited for his reveal!!!!! (cameo really) 
> 
> Side note. I totes drunk replied to a bunch of comments cause I got drunk for the first time since 2014 the other day-- my excuse being research for this fic cause I wanted to make sure I was remembering drunk right. Also I have no idea what hangovers/getting sick from drinking is really like cause It doesn't/has never happened to me.


	19. Lilium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has a date. The city has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood magic warning

Marian curled at his side is a reassurance and a curse. The risk of endeavouring into something never before experienced with someone with a past like hers- Murky, indistinct. Though he could say the same- albeit for entirely different reasons. Her life is swathed in the heavy weight of loss- He is a child in the depth of it. Amazed by her willingness to try something- To be something with him. Doesn't she know what he is. What he's done? He is going to ruin this. He is going to ruin her.  
  
His past will catch up someday. What in Thedas is he doing?  
  
“You look distracted,” a tired mumble into his chest  
  
“And you are asleep.”  
  
“I feel like I was trampled by a Bronto.”  
  
He holds back laughter. Which is hard to hide with her head pillow against his chest. Her face awash in the glow of a single flickering taper. Gold catching in the light as she squints up at him. A smile almost smug twitching to her lips.  
  
“You should laugh more. It's nice.”  
  
“You are an honest drunk.”  
  
“I try,” she closed her eyes again. Mumbling, “not really.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Nothing. 'm drunk.”  
  
“Sleep,” he said running a tentative hand through her short cropped hair.  
  
She sighed. Curling in on herself beneath the satin sheets.  
  
“Tell me about the first time you met Hawke.”  
  
“You know this.”  
  
“Humour me. I want to listen to y’r voice.”  
  
He exhaled, “Where do I begin?”

* * *

 

Once the heaviness of unrecalled dreams fades he doesn't know where he is. Startled to wakefulness and on his feet. Toes in plush carpet and eyes affronted by morning light.  
  
“Ah. I guess I should have expected that. You fell asleep here last night.”  
  
He pivots to face the voice.  
  
Ah.  
  
Yes.  
  
Marian sits at her desk facing him, a mug clutched in her hands. She is armoured like he doesn't recall seeing her before- Or? Yes. She was in this raiment when they first encountered her. Or something near identical.  
  
Panic receding. Of course he is here. Somewhere between insinuating that Hawke had seemed a righteous fool and Marian falling to sleep he must have drifted off himself.  
  
“I assume that is water.”  
  
“Tea actually.” She laughs. “Embrium Blossom and a pinch of elfroot.”  
  
“Good,” he manages. This is completely outside his depth, hes not really sure what to do with himself.  
  
The room in daylight is different than it had been that night. Marian is sober. Some great part of him knows he should have said no to her. He should have.  
  
He didn't.  
  
Now hes still here in this room awash in reds and smelling completely like her. He would do well to run. It would be wise to flee this feeling. Hes losing this battle with himself.  
  
She rolls the mug between her hands. Coughs a little before glancing at the floor. A Rosy Hue blossoming on her dark cheeks.

“Sorry for yesterday and well I was thinking we might, If you're up for it, spend the morning sparring. After getting breakfast or some such. Hmm?” She asks without pause.  
  
The Warmth that is becoming all too familiar fills his chest. He looks away.  
  
His gauntlets and breastplate are set neatly on top of the chest by the door. That he can work with. He moves to equip them. Facing away. Picking over how to answer her while snapping fasteners in place.  
  
“That would be welcome.” They don't feel like the right words no matter how wellchosen from his vocabulary.  
  
She clasps her hands together.  
  
“ Right. Good. Let's.”  
  
When he turns to look at her, still adjusting the clasp on his gauntlet, the heat in his chest burns.

* * *

  
  
“How does one carry the bulk of their wealth on hand and not wind up dead in this city?”  
  
Not to even bring up how Marian is still a jangling bag of coin after over three years in Kirkwall. Hes fairly certain Hawke pays her the same as the rest of them. So she just- still has the money she came to Kirkwall with...  
  
She dolls out a handful of silver to the baker who accepts them graciously. Marian hands him one of the clothe wrapped loafs.  
  
“My reputation precedes me.” She takes a bite of the loaf she ordered herself, “Or it did- before. I guess the city gangs and miscreants don't know I'm such a rich bastard?”  
  
“We're not truly supposed to believe you made all that money looting bodies.”  
  
“Is it so hard to believe?”  
  
She sees his incredulous expression. Cracks a smile and tucks into her bun. Dried cranberry, sunflower seed, and honey in oat bread. Too sweet for his taste. Fenris does the same with his own; a combination of black olives, sun-dried tomatoes, and pine nuts baked in sourdough.  
  
She draws him away walking, side-by-side through the market crowd before finding a secluded spot overlooking the rest of the city below. She ponders the sky, resting elbows on the metal guarding. He can't keep his eyes off her. All dark points and bright reds. Ostentatious for rogue. His eyes are drawn down by an imperfection in the myriad of leather and red. Fenris swallows a mouthful of bread.  
  
The last time she wore this armour she was wounded grievously, and had just lost everything she had. Yet it is only visible in the neat mends in the various materials of her armour. Some part of him wonders how visible a scar it left beneath all the armour.  
  
She has not to his knowledge worn it since.  
  
Is that significant?  
  
It certainly feels so.  
  
The silence feels comfortable as they finish off their food. He stuffs the folded kerchief into his belt.  
  
“It was a deep roads Expedition,” she interrupts his train of thought, “Oddly enough Hawke and I have similar rags to riches stories.” Marian shrugs, takes another bite of her cranberry bun, before folding up the remaining half under her napkin and stowing it in a side pocket of her bag. It’s size perplexingly non-apparent.  
  
“Not a place I ever wish to see you again,” Fenris Intones.  
  
She laughs. “No. No thank you. No offence to the Dwarves, but they really let that place go.”  
  
“It’s an architectural wonder of a lost age,” he deadpans  
  
“Free to be explored if you're willing to put up with the death waiting around every corner,” she can't keep laughter from creeping into her voice.  
  
It is endearing.  
  
She rests her elbow on the rail. Leaning out over the drop.  
  
He wonders how he has yet to catch burn up, standing next to her. He can't escape it. Not that he wants to. No matter how much he should.  
  
She is as bright as the sun.  
  
So if he is already standing in the fire there's no harm in it when he leans in, pulls her to him and kisses her. Caught in all her sharp angles and bright reds, between her teeth and breaths and fire. Feels her push back in earnest this time. Nothing like the last. Tastes the heat she carries with her.  
  
It tastes like oat and honey, and he has lost.

* * *

  
  
It's nearing noon by the sun, as they walk together to his house. There conversation is light. Warm.  
  
Marian stops mid stride. Gaze locked on something across the open square. Something is off. Like an itch under his skin. In the open busy streets this-  
  
“Fenris- Varric said Hawke went to the coast this morning right?”  
  
“With Isabela, and the mages. Yes.”  
  
She is looking to the Hawke estate- It's door open, swinging gently inwards on the hinges in the mild breeze.  
  
“That doesn't look right? Does it?” She bites her lip. Takes a step forwards. Stops. Looks to him.  
  
The feeling makes sense. The itch beneath the lyrium. Magic. A familiarity that isn't immediately apparent. Not Hawke. Nor either of his maleficar either.  
  
“No.”  
  
She's jogging then. He follows. To the upset of a pair of ladies walking by.  
  
He can hear the barking before they're in the door. A hollow distant sound that still manages to be loud. Drowned out is the shallow sound of voices.  
  
“Bodahn?” Marian calls from the entryway. The barking increases in volume, punctuated by wines.  
  
He follows Marian into the main room.  
  
“Oh do calm down boy. I can't let you out acting like that.”  
  
“Bodahn.” Marian calls again.  
  
“Oh, is someone here? I do have to apologies for not answering the door! Were having a bit of trouble with the dog you see. Can't seem to get him to stop barking and lunging at the door. So out of Character.” Bodahn from the top of the staircase leading to Hawke's chambers. A distressed Orana at his shoulder- “Oh! Serah Fenris, Marian! I'm afraid Hawke is out at the moment- as is his mother.” He looks to Marian with that. Air think with the tension of that. Or something else-  
  
Marian doesn't even give it a response. Only walks further into the room.  
  
“The door was open. That seemed rather-” Fenris says in her place. The lingering feeling of magic still itches... Marian stops in front of the writing desk.  
  
“Oh!” Bodan started down the stairs, “he did seem in an awful hurry. Must have missed the latch- With the dog acting up I just haven't had the second-” Who is 'he' fenris wonders.  
  
“He?”  
  
“The Mistresses suit-”  
  
Glass shatters. Fenris eyes, and the others, flick toward the sound. The room would be silent if it were not for the howling dog. A puddle of water and crystal shards litter the floor, crunching under her boots and-  
  
“It's not supposed to happen yet.” Marian whispers. It's quiet, hardly heard under the barking. Fenris watches her look up from her shaking hands. An expression he cant quite read etched in her features. Pain.  
  
Marian is bolting past him up the stairs. Orana ducking out of her way.  
  
“How long?” Brisk and cold form Marian as she makes it to Garrett's door.  
  
“Serah?”  
  
“How long since he left with my- Leandra?” She's not shouting, but it's a near thing.  
  
“Oh it can't have been more than ten minutes. You could have passed them on the way here-”  
  
“Mabs!” She gives a single shrill whistle, true silence follows it, then she flings the door open. A ball of rage tumbling out. From behind and down the stairs he watches as she squares her shoulders, plants her feet. It is unwise to confront an angered warhound- All snarling jowls and dagger teeth; staring Marian down. “You can find them boy?” She asks the mabari.  
  
The dog chuffs. Bares his teeth.  
  
“Then seek.”  
  
The pair bound side by side down the stair. The dogs nose raised. Huffing in air with every step. He pauses briefly at the shattered mess less than a second before passing Fenris.  
  
Bodhan has been baffled to silence it seems. Fenris pulls himself out of his own.  
  
“Marian?” Fenris turns after her.  
  
She points to the floor as she walks away, water, crystal shards, and a single white lily. It all clicks together with sickening clarity.  
  
“Not her surely-”  
  
That is far too- Something.  
  
Hawke has lost much, this-  
  
Fenris should know by now that fate is often so cruel.  
  
The dog is already barrelling out the door. Marian on it's heel. He follows suit.

* * *

  
  
The streets pass by in a blur of motion. Obscured faces and shouted complaints lost as they sprint after the dog. Marian is fast on her feet and avoids collisions with easy grace. Her back his only point of focus. He loses sight of her for a moment as she twists off down a side ally between the Hightown houses. He catches up with her again as they cut through a back garden, and down into a rout divided by hedgerows- It would be a scenic he thinks, if taken at a slower pace.  
  
Mab tumbles through an unlocked back gate. When Fenris pushes through after woman and dog- Their is screaming. They've cut into some garden party underway. The dog rushing into the gathering full tilt, eliciting screams as lords and ladies dive out of his way- Mabii nearly slams into Leandra Hawke- A growl rolling from deep in his chest.  
  
Leandra staring wide eyed at the dog, then up at the pair of them. Marian has already pulled out her daggers.  
  
“Quentin!”  
  
The man next to Leandra stills, Arm in arm with her. Leandra who now has her lips pressed in a firm line. Eyes locked on Marian.  
  
“How dare-” Leandra starts.  
  
“Shut up.” Marian raises her dagger. Points it at Quentin from across the garden. “Get away from her.”  
  
Mab is circling around Leandra. Eyeing the man with his arm round hers. He pulls her closer. The dog bares his teeth.  
  
“Mab, Stop. What in The Makers name do you think your doing?” Leandra cracks.  
  
“Get away from him.”  
  
The screams of the party-goers have ceased. Some have fled- to the house, or out into the back streets, some stayed. They stare, gawking at the spectacle.  
  
Fenris draws his blade. A convincing enough display to scare a few more out.  
  
“Ah. You two. I had a feeling you had been up to more than just fornication.”  
  
“You know them Quentin?”  
  
The man sighs.  
  
“I didn't want to alarm you. Though this is all incredibly inconvenient.”  
  
A blade flashes from his sleeve. A stream of blood flowing down from Leandra's stomach with a startled cry from she and Marian both. A surface wound, nothing more-  
  
Wrong.  
  
That is wrong.  
  
The blood flows to Quentin palm. Lit from within, sparking like embers.  
  
Leandra clutches at the cut, scrambling away from the man who gave it looking shocked and betrayed.  
  
Fenris shifts his stance.  
  
“Sleep now my sweet. You will be whole soon.”  
  
The blood wreaths her form. Misted in the air. Leandra collapses, and Quntin catches her, almost kindly, almost loving. It's sickening, vile. The man laughs as he rests her down against the edge of a central fontain. There is no doubt in Fenris mind this man is a monster.  
  
“I knew I had to hurry when someone had been in our home. I knew it wasn't safe, but I couldn't just leave. Not when I finally found the last of her. I just had to speed things along.”  
  
He clutches the dagger in one hand, slicing the back of the other arm again and again. Flexing fingers now red-  
  
In contention for which is worse; the lightning or fire. When the mage throws them, arms dripping blood from a dozen ragged cuts down the back of his forearm, they are both amplified chaos, destruction, pain. The lyrium in Fenris' skin, that knows them both intimately, rises in response. He flickers out, half here half gone, skin heat and rage. It fuels his speed, his strength, he is untouchable once in the fray. He strikes out towards the blood mage. Aware in his peripherals of Marian ducking and rolling from the spells paths.  
  
They say the veil is thin in Kirkwall. The rumours are not wrong. As the Mage drags the same blade over the back of his own arm again. Things rise in it's wake. Sloth. Desire. Rage. Heaving from the cobble garden stonework, brought forth from the fade on paths unseen.  
  
We have faced worse odds, Fenris thinks as he throws himself at the first desire demon in his path.  


* * *

  
  
He crushes the mans heart in his chest. Quentin dies in an instant.  
  
The demons are felled. Fenris hands coated in black and red, blood and ichor. He turns to Marian. Kneeling on the grass. Her breathing is slow. Methodical. A false calm. The dog whines. It's mouth black with demons filth. The woman between them breathes shallowly. Still under the monsters spell.  
  
They can't stay here. Hawke will know what to do.  
  
“I can carry her.” He offers.  
  
“No. I've got her Fenris.” She says softly.  
  
Marian, with filth on her hands and blood seeping from countless gashes lifts the woman who hates her. Her face set. Determined.  
  
Leandra looks small in her arms. Frail. She is not a woman who ever looked frail.  
  
Mabii limps as Marian leads them back out of the once scenic garden.  
  
Fenris doesn't know what to say. So they walk in silence. Earning stares as they drag their failures back to Hawke.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go with the cliff hangers
> 
> Okay I forget if I ever wrote it down when I introduced Hawkes Mabari but Mabs full name is Mabii (pronounced mabby)


	20. This Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkes debate in an aftermath.

A guardsman across the way is eyeing me, hand on her sword hilt, as I walk to the door. Fenris is here though, and with him at least, there's recognition on the woman's face. She does not move to confront us bloody individuals.  
  
The door; Oak, iron studding, and a brass knocker. The crest, my crest, Hawke, Amell hanging above.  
  
Two hours ago I was out enjoying myself? Haha. Unbelievable. How did I so completely lose sight of why I'm _here_ at all. Now-  
  
Exhale. Feet. Door.  
  
What was it? Where did I fuck up?  
  
Easy. It's easy. It was us- we made him act sooner. Really in hindsight I should have been watching her. Not him. If there was a fly in this ointment it was that I've been dead set on not seeing her.  
  
Don't poke the sleeping dragon Marian. Not when your too damn fragile to fight it.  
  
I should have told everyone.  
  
Why didn't I?  
  
Am I really so impudent? So high above all else just because what? I have more experience? I know things?  
  
What a joke.  
  
This was all luck. Lucky we were heading this way. Lucky we didn't die. Lucky to have Mabs. Lucky.  
  
Fenris pushes the door open, I carry her through, because at least my body knows what needs to be done. Here and now there is nothing else I can do for her.  
  
I couldn't do anything for her.  
  
Fuck-  
  
“- on the look out for all three of them and this Suitor Bodahn described. They'll find out what happened.” Aveline's voice.  
  
“But It's- It's the flower-” Hawke. “We need to-”  
  
“Hawke.” That's Anders. Gentle consolatory.  
  
“It is the same flower. That doesn't have to mean it's the same thing, does it?” Merrill.  
  
There they are grouped round the writing desk. Anders with his hand on Hawke's shoulder. Aveline back to me. Merrill holding that ugly damn flower. Isabela leaning against the edge of the desk.  
  
“Alright. Alright. I didn't say anything because it seemed like a personal vendetta but Hawke you should probably know that Marian has been hu-Andraste's holy tits. Marian.”  
  
I want to be anytime and anywhere but here. She- she wasn't heavy until this very second. Weighty as a ghost. I have never so much wanted my mother to be angry with me. To shout. To curse my name. To do anything. I want to scream. Wouldn't that call more attention to the unconscious woman in my arms. To the absolute enormity of this failure.  
  
Breathe. Speak.  
  
Mouth hanging open. All I know are lies, and even those are lost to me at the moment. Who was I before I walked in this door?  
  
Who am I now?  
  
A liar. A fool.  
  
Fenris hand lands on my shoulder. My own silence is deafening. The shock in the room as a whole is palpable.  
  
“Hawke. Anders?” _Eloquent_ and far to quiet form my lips. She needs healing. Her blood is on my clothes. Red on red.  
  
Act. Act. It's easy just pretend that this is easy and you don't care. Wicked grace. Wicked grace.  
  
But this isn't cards. This is my mother and I failed spectacularly here. Didn't I?  
  
“She'll need healing.” Fenris addresses the startled room. “Marian?” Offering his arms and I'm shaking. Strain? It has to be strain I just carried a person across several city blocks. Fought Demons. Am injured. Why else would I be shaking?  
  
No one moves but Fenris. Away form me and up the stairs.  
  
“Anders- she needs you.” Is a whisper in my throat. Croaky. But he jumps. The silence shatters. With gasps and motion and shouting. Everything is buzzing. Vague-  
  
I'm aware that my mother was taken from me by Fenris and of clipped discussion between Anders and he ascending the stairs. The noise of the rest of the room. Hundreds and hundreds of questions. My knees buckling under me and my hands covered in blood. Mine and hers and black-  
  
Stop, Get a hold of yourself.  
  
She is alive.  
  
Alive.  
  
Breathing and whole and alive and my throat shouldn't be so constricted. And I shouldn't be so afraid. I am the champion of Kirkwall. I have faced worse and won. I know how to fix this. I can fix this.  
  
Kneeling on the cold tile my knees hurt and my arms are too empty. Lots of things hurt. Ugh I still haven't had a chance to pick up more elfroot potions-  
  
A gentle hand sits lightly on my shoulder. I start. Look. Merrill is kneeling next to me. She gives me a tiny smile.  
  
“There you are. I think Hawke want's to talk to you.” She hums, then looks down at my arms pinches her lips together, “Ah we might want to get you fixed up first.” She looks up to the rest of the room, “Hawke?”  
  
Merrill offers a hand and I take it. The tiny woman pulling me to my feet. Brushing my shoulders as if that will clear away any of the filth.  
  
Isabela has skirted to the very edge of the room. Somewhere between leaving and waiting to see what happens. Hawke is half in half out of mothers room. Anders must be in there. Fenris too is at the top of the stairs- Avaline at the bottom; The pair are having some conversation- argument.  
  
“Hawke. I's blood magic. Anders won't be able to wake her.” Leaves my lips. Cold and bitter hard. Hawke looks at me. Looks. He has her eyes, sapphire, chiselled from ice. That look, that I know too well, the one that says, _'Tell me what happened.'_ but means, _'tell me what you did.'  
  
_ “Who did this too her?” He asks. _  
  
_ It's all Leandra Hawke, but calm, controlled. Where there should be panic. Rage.  
  
I wonder if my face ever looks the same.  
  
Maker knows. We are our parents children.

* * *

  
  
“No.” Hawke says.  
  
No like I said he should buy a new pair of shoes. No like I asked if he'd like water.  
  
No.  
  
“What do you mean no?”  
  
“No. I'm not asking Merrill to do that.”  
  
“She does blood magic all the time.”  
  
“I wish she didn't. I don't want her to risk it. Magic- especially like this, isn't that simple.”  
  
“She's good at it! I'm sure she can figure it out.”  
  
“Marian. I don't know what to tell you.” He sighs, “Merrill does blood magic for her own reasons, I don't like it, I'm not going to stop her if it's her choice, but I'm not going to ask her to do it for me. Anders and I will find some other way.”  
  
Do it for you? For you? What about for our mother? I don't say it. I can't say it.  
  
“There won't be another way.” I say instead. Without half as much bite.  
  
“You don't know that.”  
  
Don't I? Don't I?  
  
Yes I do. It's blood magic and I've seen it before. I've seen it before and- I know what researching unknown magic gets you. I run a frustrated hand through my blood mated hair.  
  
So pacing. Again.  
  
There's a knock at the main door. Bodahn goes to answer it. The floor bellow a clutter of friends; Sans Aveline, gone to inform The Guard of the days events and clean up after them... Clear seen from Hawke and I's vantage point from the upper story. Varric joining the fray.  
  
If Hawke won't let Merrill do it then who? Maybe he's right about Merrill. Maybe. Anders says Mother is fine, the blood educed sleep notwithstanding. Maybe given time the two of them could find some alternative means.  
  
We shouldn't wait for alternative means. I know other Blood mages.  
  
“What about Gascard DuPuis?”  
  
“Gascard- You mean the man who was suspected of the murders- What about him?”  
  
“He was Quentin's student. He would know how to undo this. Probably.”  
  
“Quentin?”  
  
“The man who did this.”  
  
“Gascard is dead, Marian. He was captured by the templars.”  
  
“Fuck. Maker how did you fuck that up so badly?”  
  
“He was killing people? Or I thought he was. I'm sorry, I thought I was doing the right thing?”  
  
“Well he wasn't, he was just his blasted underling desperate to get back to learning how to carve women up and put them back together!”  
  
“You would want his help?”  
  
“No!” Arms flying into the air, deflating, slapping into my sides, ”No, but I would do anything to save my mother.”  
  
“You think I won't? It's my mother we're talking about!”  
  
“She! it is.” Shit. Breathe. Focus. “You can't just let her stay like this.”  
  
“She's alive, we can figure some other way to wake her.”  
  
“How long will that take? Days? Weeks? How long until she withers away while you try to do things the just and honourable way? Do you want to know what it's like to lose your entire family!”  
  
“Marian. Maybe give the kid a break.” Varric at some point came to join us I guess.  
  
“Right. Sorry.”  
  
I'm not sorry. Hes being stubborn for the sake of ideals. I'm deflating though.  
  
Varric steers me away from Hawke towards the windows. Patting him on the shoulder on out way by. Anders calls gently from Mothers doorway. Hawke goes. Varric sits me on a window bench.  
  
“So Isabela's told me you and she and Fenris were on a bit of a quest to snuff this guy out. I had a few suspicions- but it sounds like the real events would be one hell of a more intriguing tale if you ask me. I mean how did you figure all of this out on your own? Life long vendetta? Any reason we weren't in on it till this shit hit the fan?”  
  
I let out an exasperated breath.  
  
“I- I don't know.”  
  
He laughs.  
  
“That's new. No convoluted story for me. You know I like your stories.”  
  
“Not in the right mindset for my usual tale spinning I guess.”  
  
“She admits to her falsehoods,” he says it jokingly, looks me in the eye and something must be there because he frowns. ”Ah. Hawke's got a knack for working us out of tight spots. Just hang in there kid. It'll work out.”  
  
“I don't think he can this time. Hes not the one who got us into it.”  
  
No. That was me.  
  
At least she's alive.  
  
This time.  
  
For now.

* * *

  
  
Three days.  
  
Three days and everything has changed. I can walk in the front door without fear, but maker, I wish I still couldn't.  
  
“Marian.” Bodahn nods me in, “Messere Hawke is in with his mother at the moment. Anders is in the library.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
I go to the library. Sweeping passed the fireplace and book-lined walls. My bag packed with books I should have long since returned to Anders. One tucked under my arm for good measure. Plus a few more I retrieved from the clinic. There's only so much his non-magical assistants can do without him there, and he has yet to leave Hawke since I brought our mother through the door.  
  
How much of that is necessity?  
  
Loyalty?  
  
Love?  
  
I know hes needed to keep her healthy, and hes determined to find some cure in these tombs with Hawke- but this isn't the only place hes needed.  
  
My nails are digging into the leather cover. I know this is a waste of time.  
  
Why won't Hawke relent?  
  
“I have the books you asked for.” I say, trotting up the short set of stairs. To where Anders sits hunched over a desk already cluttered with books and paper.  
  
“Mhmm.” He gestures with a hand to the desk beside him. I set down the first and get to work pulling the others from my bag. Anders turns another page in the book hes reading.  
  
“Any progress?”  
  
“Nmm.”  
  
I let the next book hit the desktop harder than necessary. He looks up with a jolt. His book falling open on the table.  
  
“It's only been three days.” He blurts.  
  
I let a sigh slip out.  
  
“Do you really think it's possible? That your going to find some other way in these old damn books?” I wave a hand, gesturing to the piles of books and notes scrawled on parchment.  
  
“Anything is possible. There's so much magic hidden from us by the circle- it'll just take-”  
  
“Time? Anders, how much time do we have before she withers away? Before who knows how many die without you while you try to keep her alive?”  
  
Anders opens his mouth. The man looks too haggard for his age. I regret the words a little-  
  
“Marian.” Hawke says from behind me. I recoil from a flinch, Instead turning to face him. He looks upset, or even angry.  
  
He heard that then.  
  
Maybe I regret the words a lot.  
  
“How is she?” I cut in before he can berate me for them. Looking away to continue my book stack on the table.  
  
“As good as she can be. For the moment.”  
  
I nod.  
  
“If you don't want to help us you don't have to be here.”  
  
Another book drops to hard from my hands.  
  
“Hawke. I want to help.”  
  
“But you still don't think I'm doing the right thing.” He sighs, “Marian this is the only right way to do this.”  
  
Maybe the right way shouldn't matter.  
  
It shouldn't.  
  
I shake my head.  
  
“Anders.” I place the last book on the top of the now precarious stack, ”Betha wanted to know if you have the funds for more elfroot for the clinic. I could pick that up for you. If you won't be back today.”  
  
“Ah I'm sure I have some-”  
  
“I can pay for it.”  
  
“Well. If you insist. If you could? Tell Them I'll probably be a- few days longer.”  
  
“Sure.” Closing my bag I brush passed Hawke for the door.  
  
Half way there I hear his footsteps. He just has to be so tired of my presence. Of my incessant disagreement-  
  
“Marian. You really don't have to do this you know.”  
  
Of course.  
  
“Do what exactly?”  
  
“Keep coming back here. Running errands. She's not your responsibility.”  
  
“You can say you don't want me around you know. Don't dance around it.”  
  
“No. That's not.” He sighs, I finally look at him, ”Marian I don't want you to feel like this is your responsibility. Like It's somehow your fault- because it's not.”  
  
“Of course not. Why would I be responsible for something we had no way of knowing would happen?”  
  
Maybe my words land a note off sarcastic. A little too honest. A little too responsible.  
  
At the end of the day I am responsible.  
  
“Marian,” Hawke puts a hand on my shoulder, pinches his lips together like hes mulling over some internal debate and-  
  
In some weird far off corner of my brain he smells like _Home._ Not Kirkwall even though it's there- but the clinging afterthought of Fereldan, forests and mud and dogs, with an undercurrent of lyrium and elfroot. The smell that means _Dad._  
  
All the fight, stiffness I didn't know I was feeling rushes out of me. My shoulders slump as Haw- Garrett crushes me into his chest.  
  
”I don't blame you. The only reason she's alive right now is because you were there. Because you're here.” Is all muffled into my hair.  
  
It's all, real, weighty.  
  
I can only think of how backwards this is. It's his Mother. _Even if it is my mother_.  
  
Shouldn't I be comforting him? On that impulse I wrap my arms around his middle.  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
“It's not your fault.”  
  
“I'm sorry anyway.”  
  
I can't let her die.  
  
I can't let him lose her.  
  
Even if he doesn't like how I get it done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuckin okay! This chapter! this fuckin chapter! is so short and was done a month ago!  
> fucking hell it would be longer (which is why it wasn't posted a month ago) but as is I could not decide between Fenris or Marian POV so it got split into said two POV's becoming two chapters BUT Unfortunately the split wasn't a simple Marian pov-Fenris pov: It wound up Marian-Fenris-Marian with the likelihood of there being an extra short Garrett pov at the end there. AND I COULDN'T DECIDE if I was going to break form and do an actual split pov chapter or have a bit of an anti-cliff-hanger Marian chapter that comes to the conclusion of this arc then a fenris pov that happens in the middle but posted after (ew) I even debated tacking the fenris pov onto the previous chapter cause that would actually work!!!  
> BUt it's been way too long so no!! three short chapters instead copletly breaking my reasonble chapter estimate. I will wait to post the next part, cause wow I technically have a 1.5 chapter buffer now. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH


	21. Enamour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something he should not dance around.

  
“What do you mean no?” Aghast from Marian.  
  
“No. I'm not asking Merrill to do that.”  
  
“She does blood magic all the time.”  
  
“I wish she didn't. I don't want her to risk it. Magic- especially like this, isn't that simple.” Hawke is keeping his voice level. The conversation caries none the less, from their vantage above the main floor.  
  
Sitting and listening to them arguing is decidedly terrible, he thinks. At least it was cut short by the arrival of Varric. He has a feeling it could have gone on for some time.  
  
He sighs at the still bloodied state of his gauntlets. Clenched into fists in his lap as Varric soothes the situation between the half siblings.  
  
Worse still he doesn't know which of them is right. Hawke; adamant about finding a way without blood magic, Or Marian; because who would let a woman waste away when there are immediate means to save her.  
  
Even given the nature of those means...  
  
A soft sigh sounds from beside him as a new weight falls to the bench. The tiny, but altogether still imposing form of Merrill, lips pinched together in visible frustration.  
  
“I don't understand why Hawke won't at least let me try to help. I know I could. It can't be that hard.”  
  
“He values your life more than you do, It seems,” that's the truth of the matter.  
  
“Oh. I mean- That's silly.”  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
Varric cut down the stair again. Leaving Marian leaning on the rail at the top. Just outside Leandra's door.  
  
Fenris sighs as Hawke rejoins her. As he thought; they are far from done. Though this seems far more conciliatory. Their tones quieter this time. The two take to sitting on the top stair. He can still hear though.  
  
“How are you so calm about this?” Marian asks. Out of the corner of his eye he can see her staring at her hands.  
  
“I'm not.”  
  
Marian rises, takes to pacing. Again. Like a full pot placed of a fire, it can only take to boiling.  
  
Merrill hums from the other end of the bench.  
  
“Do you think he'll try to stop me if I help anyway?” She whispers.  
  
“If you do, I will stop you.” Despite her faults even he would not want to see her become an abomination. Especially if Hawke does not wish to risk it.  
  
Though it might be exactly what she deserves for such foolishness, He has fought enough demons for one day. He is not that spiteful.  
  
“Ugh. You're both- It's really not so bad you know. You just have to talk to them.”  
  
“I am aware of the nature of blood magic.” He says sharply. Merrill blinks. Looks away.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Yes. Oh.  
  
  
He leaves hours later. After the mage- Anders, has reaffirmed that she will not be woken by conventional means. Hawke still refusing Merrill's aid or that of blood magic.  
  
Marian lingered, after all the rest had departed. That felt stranger still.  
  
She nodded his acknowledgement as he left. Eye's far and far away. __  
  
So far as he knows any interactions that had passed between Marian and Hawke's Mother were- lacking in amenity, to say the least.  
  
_She lost everything once._  
  
She blames herself for this as well.

* * *

  
  
“Marian.”  
  
Four days later she's standing in the midst of his hall. Breathing heavy, like she had been running. Bright eyed and a determined smile despite circumstances.  
  
“I had an idea.” Marian says, walking up the stairs with her determined and silent gait. The gentle sway of her hips something-  
  
He looks to her face.  
  
“An idea that warranted running here?” he asks.  
  
“Hasn't anyone ever told you you're always worth running too?”  
  
Fenris brushed that off, Staring off into a corner, “This idea of yours?”  
  
“The mages from Starkhaven wound up with the circle here, right?”  
  
“They did. Why?”  
  
“Good, that's excellent because Hawke won't let Merrill do it, but one of them could.”  
  
That leaves him with disquiet. A roll of discomfort so similar to the pull of lyrium under his skin. To trust a unknown mage, a blood mage at that, it is folly.  
  
How would she even go about retrieving one of them from the circle?  
  
Perhaps a month ago he would have readily disagreed with her actions, But he finds his tongue stalled. This woman who looks at him like- Like something.  
  
Something that dries up the words in his throat.  
  
Were it any other person afflicted. Were it for anyone but Hawke. Were it anyone but Marian...  
  
“Have you spoken to Hawke of this?”  
  
“No.” Her hands gently lifted one of his. Eyes tracing over the metal joints.  
  
“Will you?” A plea as much as a question.  
  
“No.” Her eyes are on his now. Earth and gold and set as stone. “Sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than permission, if he doesn't forgive me- well, I'll just have to accept it. It's not like I haven't lost brothers before. At least he won't be dead, at least-” She shrugged, but her eyes told a different story. “I'd like your help, If you'll help me. I, I want you at my side, at my back. I know this isn't the kind of thing you approve of. Blood mages and magic and all, but I know it Fenris. I know this magic. I know their isn't another way.”  
  
“It is not something I approve of, but,” _but I would follow you,_ “what do you need?”  
  
“To look more intimidating than I already do on my own. Oh and a few lessons in Qunlat phrases.”  
  
Her cocksure smile plays on her lips.  
  
He can't say no.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Thank you Fenris.” She punctuated that by brushing her lips against his temple. As brief as the contact, his throat tightens. She gently laces her fingers through his and pulling them back into the dimming light of his room.  
  
“Which phrases do you need?”  
  
“How do you say 'I am a friend to the Qunari?' I need to look like I know what I'm saying, at least enough to impress my importance on an unimpressive man.”

* * *

  
  
  
“Civilians are not allowed in the inner wards. Please step back.” The Templar put an arm between her and the gate. Albeit a shaking arm. She glares daggers. Straightens her back, squares shoulders. Like she's again facing off against a dog.  
  
Though, he thinks, she does not respect this one. At all.  
  
Even a half foot under the height of the boy she is intimidating to behold.  
  
“I have business with knight captain Cullen.” She intones in a voice he can only equate with nobility. It makes it sound as if they're here on actual business. At least her armour is suitably ostentatious- if gore splattered. Perhaps his is as well.  
  
“Can I see some documentation.” Says the Templar. He hardly looks out of training. Young and more bones in loose steel than knight.  
  
“Documentation Serah? Perhaps you would like to take the time to explain why, with all these resources, and all you good strong soldiers of the faith; That I, _a civilian_ , was the one to rout out a blood mage in Hightown some days past? A real threat while you stood here guarding a gate? Should it also be explained to the Knight Commander that her Templar's are spending more time at whore houses and harassing innocent healers than actually finding murderous blood mages? Now, knowing her I'm sure she'll enjoy that news immensely. Won't she Fenris?”  
  
“Undoubtedly.”  
  
“I assure you, Serah. I do not have the time to stand here and argue with you about documentation. If you want my _documentation_ take it up with the city guard. They cleaned up the aftermath of your blood mage. If you ask nicely I'm sure they'll graciously surrender the bastards corpse. Now I have a report to give. Are you getting out of my way? Or do you want to be the one to explain to Ser. Cullen why I wasn't able to give that report? Or perhaps I should take it right to the Knight Commander herself?”  
  
“I-” the Templar splutters meekly.  
  
“It serves to be prompt.”  
  
The young Templar signals for the gate to be opened, and Marian turns back to Fenris and smiles. The confidant swing to her hips all the more pronounced as she sweeps passed the guard.  
  
Like something akin to a wildfire, to the sorrow of those who stand in her path, she blazes forward. Hes glad to only be caught in her wake.  
  
Through the long long halls with their high ceilings, escorted by the fearful recruit. Bars and chains and statues of slaves still on prominent display. Tevinter in every inch of these halls. They came to a stop outside an open door. Within the knight Commander rifling papers on his overladen desk. A half finished bottle of lyrium acting as a paperweight to a stack of numerous parchments.  
“Knight captain, Ser. A-?” The boy blinked. Looked to Marian.  
  
“Marian Hawke.” She gave the lad an amicable smile with to many teeth.  
  
“A Messere Hawke to see you about an incident in Hightown?” The boys voice withering under the Captains gaze.  
  
“I asked for no interruptions. Ser. Pate. Reports can-”  
  
“Ser. Cullen, you'll have to forgive your man. I do have a report to give, for your ears alone, on the events in Hightown yesterday, and a few other _matters_ that grant interrupting.”  
  
“Surely this report could be given to the-”  
  
“Knight Captain Cullen! Are you quite aware of the state of this city? Blood Mages butchering women in the Hightown quarter? Religious zealots out for Qunari blood? A missing book. Not to even mention the cults and gangs and all else our city is famous for. As the second-in-command of the second largest- No, make that third largest, considering the Qunari as we are, military faction in the city. I would think these are things you should be well informed of.”  
  
“What is this about? Fenris? Speak to it I will not be talked in circles.”  
  
She rested a hand at the pommel of her blade. In one swift motion she freed the knife out her belt slamming it into the paper laden desk. She released it to ring with the sound of the blow. Pining several stray pages beneath the blades tip, the dark metal glinting in the light streaming through the windows.  
  
A finer blade Fenris has never seen. Now that it held all the rooms, silent and apt, attention. Not one he'd seen Marian wield before; curved with a hilt wrapped in supple red leather. It suited her in every way of blade could suit a person. He had seen its like before. Often of late, when fighting qunari. It's grip clearly made for the hand that left it planted in Cullen's desk. Her's and her's alone.  
  
Cullen stood. A slow deliberate motion. His heavy chair toppling over behind him. Fenris moved to intercept between the two should Cullen make to move on her.  
  
“What is the meaning of this!” The knights hand went to his own blade.  
  
“I am a friend to the Qunari,” spoken in near-perfect Qunlat, practised on and on into the night. So clear he could still feel the whisper of it against his skin-  
  
A thought for another time-  
  
She gestured to the blade. Falling back to trade, “you and I could be friends too. Trust me when I say you don't want me as an enemy.”  
  
“If you came here to threaten me, I'm not so easily cowed.”  
  
“No. Ser. Cullen. I am no threat to you personally. Not really. I'm going to tell you about a simple- truth. Then I'm going to beg a service of you. If you feel the need to deny me this service only then will this be a threat, because you're inaction will threaten me and mine. I have no time to waste on the off chance that you are good enough person to do as I ask without the right, personal, motivations so listen and listen well.  
  
“I hope you know there is nothing the Qunari abhor more than chaos, but I, Knight Captain. I was born for it. A word, in this ear or that. There are many things that might push the fragile stability of our lovely Kirkwall out of balance. I happen to know some of these words. Oh how I could whisper them.  
  
“So I have everything to gain here don't I? nothing to lose. What's worth more to you? The protocol of this establishment or the welfare of this cities fair people?  
  
“You can't have both. Ser.  
  
“Because I need to ask a favour of you as we are going to be such good _friends_.”  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will willingly admit that I don't have the best head voice for writing Fenris. So Fen POV tends to be sparse and mostly observant.   
> Two more chapters of hawke mom aftermath then the big stuff starts happening. okay?  
> okay.  
> see you there.  
> Also I love Merrill & I regret not giving her more spotlight but I pinched the LadyWarden/Merril bg material I was going to use here for empathetic Marian&Merrill interaction for a more warden centric fic I might do asp so. yeah.


	22. Draw A Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke accepts that some things are not within your control.

Anders yawned. Red eyed from lack of sleep. He still looks half a dream though.  
  
He always does.  
  
“You should rest Anders.”  
  
“Hm. Could say the same to you Hawke. Though, we're close to something with this-” he tapped the page of the worn volume in front of him, “I feel it.”  
  
“Anders-” I ran a hand over my face to rub away the weariness.  
  
Anders pulled the hand away, surprising me. I blinked at him. He squeezed my hand in his.   
  
“I'm here with you. As long as it takes, Hawke. Well figure it out.”  
  
He kept our hands there, between us on the tabletop as he used his other hand to turn the pages of his book. His fingers around mine should not be the distraction that they are-  
  
“So, Blood vices-”  
  
A knock at the door cut me off. Followed shortly by Bodahn's voice, “Ah Messere Marian, Fenris, and Messere Carver how good of you to come. I'm sure-”  
  
“Carver?” I almost shouted. Standing from the table. Slipping away from Anders. He dropped his book to the table, his own chair scrapping the tiles as he stood, but stopped short of following me.  
  
 _I didn't send a message to Carver._  
  
Why didn't I send a message to Carver?  
  
Distracted. Too distracted. _By more than just mother._ The ghost of Anders fingers still folded in mine.  
  
Why is Marian the one bringing him home? I should have told him about mother. What kind of brother does it make me that I forget he exists the moment he does one thing I disapprove of. The guilt rushes around in my head as I make my way over to the railing overlooking the entryway. My hand settling on the stone rail.  
  
Carver looked up at the motion.  
  
“Brother,” was his cold greeting. His hand rested on the shoulder of another. A somewhat familiar man that I can't quite place, dark skinned with a perpetual kicked puppy look, dressed in light robes and watching everyone warily.   
  
Marian's hushed conversation with Bodahn cut off as she looked up at me. Her expression unreadable, almost angry- Like Carvers definitely is.  
  
Another came in through the still open door. All imposing and bedecked in Templar steel; The Knight Captain of Kirkwalls Templars, the right hand of Meredith, Cullen Rutherford.  
  
“Messere Hawke,” he said, “I hear you have a magic problem.”   
  
Alarm bells went ringing in my head. A templar in my house. A templar in my house.  
  
“What?” Ah.  
  
“Messere Marian has informed me of your mothers circumstances. The Circle of Magi would not be serving it's purpose if we did not send aid.”  
  
“Of course they can't send a Mage to aid us _non-magic folk_ without supervision Brother.” Marian's Laughing lilt added in. Waving a hand to Carver and the Captain. “I thought Carver would be enough but my friend Cullen insisted on the need for multiple templars to watch a single mage. Imagine Hawke. One mage overwhelming a well trained Templar.” She laughed jovially and placed a hand on the Captains shoulder. “We should be so unlucky.”  
  
“Uh.” I looked back to Anders where he sat. Listening. Looking quite incensed. Anders and Templars do not mix well. Justice and Templars even less so. “How kind of you Knight Captain. Marian you should have told me you were _bringing them-_ so soon.”  
  
“I told you I would do anything.” All the false lightness gone from her voice. “This is the only way.”  
  
“Marian.” You shouldn't have brought them here. You shouldn't have done this. “Why don't you show our guests in. I'll be down in a moment.”  
  
She nodded.  
  
I rushed back to Anders.   
  
“You heard all that.”   
  
“Of course I did. It's not like I can't feel them anyway. Maker, what is she even thinking? Bringing Templars Here? The Knight Captain of all people? You know what? I imagine she doesn't do a lot of that, actually. Thinking, but I didn't think she condoned Templar practices. Though I should have guessed considering her taste in men-”   
  
I can feel his agitation in the air. The presence in his eyes, on his skin. That whisper of someone-something else that is a part of him now-  
  
“Anders!” Was my hushed shout. I rested my hands on his shoulders.  
  
He blinked away the flicker of blue in his eyes. Took a steadying breath.  
  
“You need to stay in here, and not let them notice you. I'll- I'll get rid of him.”  
  
“Right.” He sat back down. “Be careful Hawke.”  
  
I made my way down the stairs and out of the library, closing the door behind me with a click. My guests stood arrayed in the hall. Cullen distracted by a conversation between Marian, Carver, and Mabs at the fireplace. The great dog excitedly wagging his tail as he greeted Carver.  
  
For the half a heartbeat before he noticed me he wasn't scowling. Then it returned as his eyes flicked to me.  
  
“It's good to see you Carver. I should have sent word-”  
  
“Save it. Where is she?”  
  
“Ah. just a moment Carver,” Marian, stepped between us, ”Cullen? I need a word with my _brothers,_ If you can watch our guest?”   
  
Cullen gave a stiff nod.   
  
“Carver, Hawke?” She waved us away.  
  
She marched up the stairs for my bedroom. I followed- had to follow. With heavy legs and a pounding heart. Templars. The knight Captain of the templar's. Just down the stairs having an amicable chat with Fenris in my living-room.   
  
She gently closed the door behind us.   
  
Carver huffed folding his arms. “What is this about? We need to help Mother not talk.”  
  
I ignored his outburst and rounded on Marian.  
  
“You brought bloody templars?”  
  
“I brought our brother, and a mage who can fix what happened to m-your mother. Cullen wasn't part of my original plan. We'll have to distract him.”  
  
“What plan? What is one more mage going to be able to do to help.”  
  
“Well, all that needs to be done. Obviously. Hes going to make the demon let her wake up.”  
  
“Are you serious Marian? Marian no. I said-”  
  
“That you won't ask Merrill to do blood magic.”   
  
She plans to have blood magic done in front Meredith's right fucking hand. She can't let them do this. There's a better way. Theirs always a better way.  
  
Blood magic is wrong. She has to see that.  
  
“I'm not going to ask some other mage just because they once used blood magic-”  
  
“Well it's a little late now. I can't un-threaten the Knight Captain to get the mage here now can I?”  
  
“You threatened Captain Cullen?” Carver cut in.  
  
“Well I didn't _threaten_ _him_ really. More like gave him the right incentive to see sense.”  
  
“What does that even mean?” Carver asked.   
  
“Does he know you plan on making a mage do blood magic?” I asked instead.  
  
“No.” She shrugged, “That's why he'll need to be distracted outside the room. Ask if you can oversee the healing Carver. It would be good practice for a young recruit.”  
  
“Marian this isn't happening! We- We'll just have him look at her and tell Cullen there's nothing to be done.”  
  
“Are- are you just going to let Mother stay asleep?” Carver.  
  
“Of course not!”  
  
“Then what are you doing? She's been like this for what, a week? And you didn't even bother telling me? How much longer can she last?” Carver carried on.  
  
“Carver. You know why we can't-”  
  
“Even father wasn't so higher-than-thou Garrett. This is our Mothers life. For Makers sake if you know how to help her and won't because it offends your delicate sensibilities.”  
  
“It's blood magic Carver! Father never would have-”  
  
“Are you serious?”  
  
“Enough! If the idea of blood magic is so heinous too you-” Marian shakes her head, jabbing a finger at my chest, “if that weight is too heavy for your shoulders. Let me carry it. Maker knows I can take credit for worse. I'll ask Alain. I'll see that it's done. If it goes wrong I'll end it. If Cullen catches wind I'll get rid of him too. You won't have to lift a finger or put a toe out of line. I can do this for her. I need to do this, and you won't be able to stop me. So don't try.”  
  
“Marian-”  
  
“I already lost my mother! I will not see it happen again! Never! Just go talk to the nice Knight Captain about Ferelden and our Dogs. Carver, are you with me?”  
  
I swallowed my protests. How much death has she lived through. That she would try so hard for a woman who hates her. All for what? Me?  
  
Family.  
  
Our family.  
  
“I'll do my best to convince the Captain.” Carver relaxes his arms, ”He likes to see troops show initiative. I'm with you sister.”  
  
Two against one.  
  
What am I to do?  
  
“Marian if this goes wrong-”  
  
“It won't Garrett.” She gripped my arm, squeezing lightly, “Trust me.”  
  
And-  
  
I guess I have to.  
  
“Alright. Do what you have to.”  
  
She nodded. Taking a steadying breath.   
  
“Thank you Garrett. She'll be alright, I'll make sure of it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. Next is the last part of the "can she save Leandra" Arc of the story, will likely also be a short one. I actually have most of the chapters from here on out done at least in part, still quite a bit to write though. Two of which are scenes I pictured way back when I was writing the first chapter! I'm really looking forward to getting those out (also scared). There's likely going to be between 32-34 chapters in total by my last estimate/outline. So long as I don't break up any like this last one (All of 20-23 was supposed to be Marain pov and a single chapter but that didn't happen) Or decide to make any drastic changes. 
> 
> We reached 5K hits with the last update and I am ecstatic!! Thanks so much for coming back to read & sticking with me!!! I'm actually shocked by the statistics this fic has earned. Love you guys!!


	23. Our Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood magic in this chap.

“A woman was attacked by a blood mage in the hightown quarter some days ago if you were not aware. A blood mage who, I might add, was not captured or killed by those who are supposed to be keeping the population safe from mages like him. Now this woman has been put in an enchanted sleep. I need a mage named Alain. He was one of the Starkhaven mages brought in a few years ago I believe.   
  
“There's more than enough precedent for a mage to be released into civilian service under the circumstances. It was done not so long ago during the blight in Ferelden if I recall?”  
  
Cullen leaned forward, resting his fists on the table.  
  
“Out of necessity during a blight. I can't just ignore protocol when it comes to taking a mage out of the circle.”  
  
“Cullen. Magic will serve man. What service does it provide locked up in a prison? It's time for Alain to do his duty and you yours. This one mage, out for one day- is all I'm asking of you. Is that not within your power? Or are you willing to try my patience here?”  
  
“There will be no need to whisper any words, but I'll need to send a guard to oversee the proceedings, you understand. Tensions are high as it is without an incident with a circle mage to add to the fire.”  
  
“I'll take a Templar with me then.”  
  
“It will require more than one I assure you. The Mages from the Starkhaven circle are at a higher risk than most.”  
  
“If you are so afraid of tensions rising in this city I recommend keeping your own men in check. Perhaps send a message to your handlers at the Chantry. The Qunari take as kindly to magic as they do to religious zealots out to get them hm? I would hate for them to hear of the conspiring-”  
  
The man on the other side of the desk held up a hand.  
  
“Then I will accompany you.”   
  
That would be inconvenient. I glanced at Fenris, but he was stoic in the moment. It's all me here.  
  
“Do you have so little faith in your men?”   
  
“Even the best of us can fall prey to blood magic serah. I have no intention of putting one of my men into unknown danger.”  
  
“Carver Hawke will be in no danger. It's his mother I'm trying to save after all.”  
  
“Hawke's brother? Had you said so from the beginning there would have been no need for threats.”  
  
“I told you, I can't waste time finding out if your a good enough man to do what's needed.   
  
I pulled my dagger from the table and re sheathed it. Holding out my hand for Cullens to cement the deal.  
  
“Do we have an understanding?” There was as beat, then he took it in a tight grip.  
  
“Why Alain? There are many with far greater training.”  
  
“Because I know what kind of person he is Captain Cullen.”  
  
Exactly the man I need.  
  
“We best go fetch my brother and our mage. Hawke will be expecting us.”

* * *

  
  
I remember my mothers rooms. Her luxurious bedding; because the woman loved heat. Even in Kirkwall's miserable summer she buried herself beneath at least three coverlets. Her stone floor padded down with fine wool rugs. I remember as a child all the crocheted wool quilts and the plethora of furs that were heaped on mothers side of the bed no matter where we travelled in Ferelden, no matter the season. The woman who nested within them, full of warm smiles and motherly worry, could be woken with the gentlest of touches when one of her children came crying in the night.  
  
Here and now on this rooms threshold, even with the fire in the hearth, the carpets, the covers, it is warm as ever; but it's cold too; the woman on the bed looks as though she stands next to death. If I were to brush my fingers against her shoulder- she would sleep on.   
  
My steps carry me forward. I stop at the foot-board. How long has it been since I was here? A long long time. In another life this room went untouched until- until the day I lost that world.   
  
I should be thankful it's not her face on a body that belongs to too many women. Mother is only sleeping, no matter how permanent the sleep, at least it's not that. Garrett may hate me for this. He may curse me for taking away his choice, for working with darkness, but at least he'll never know that fate. His mother will live.  
  
There was a time in my life when I would have done things right. Waited for the lead. Done my best to do the best could. Stuck to my ideals.  
  
There are already bodies innumerable at my feet, faces I remember and don't. So few have names.   
  
Malcolm, Carver, Bethany, Leandra.  
  
This time she will not be one of them.  
  
What are ideals next to those we love.  
  
This time she will live.  
  
Carver's armour clanking behind me alerted me to his arrival. I turned from the bedpost.  
  
“Well?”  
  
Carver passed through the door, followed by the nervous looking Alian. Fiddling with the edges of his robe.  
  
“Cullen agreed. Seems like all your ribbing is getting to him Marian.”  
  
“Right. Fenris stayed downstairs?” Because Fenris did stipulate that he would rather not be present for this.  
  
“They're talking about Mabari. Like we Fereldans needed to reinforce the whole dog thing. Our brother went to have a word with Anders. He doesn't want us to start without him.”  
  
“Good. You can wait till then Alain.” I waved to one of mothers plush blue window seat.  
  
“Yes. Messere I- I'm not sure how much help I can be really. There are much more experienced mages in the circle.”  
  
“It's your experience I need.” I gave him a smile. Carver had gone to Mothers bedside.   
  
“Maker. She's really- She hasn't looked so bad since Beth. How did it happen?”  
  
“The man she was seeing, Quentin, was a murderer who's been preying on women in this city for years. I caught wind of him and Fenris and I have been trying to catch him for weeks but- we were too late.”  
  
Carver sighed, brushing her hair back from her brow. “Preying on them?”  
  
“It's gruesome. What he did.”  
  
“I'm not a child.”  
  
“He was finding women who had certain features and- cutting them up, to try and make his dead bride.”  
  
“Maker. What a monster. We're supposed to protect people from mages like him.”  
  
“He's dead now.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
A silence settled over us as Carver sat down on the edge of her bed. So I sat next to Alain brushing my hair out of my eyes.  
  
“So Alain,” I spoke evenly and so as not to carry, “I need you to understand that what we're going to ask you to do goes against all the laws they set for you at the gallows, but I know you and the other Mages from Starkhaven have done this before. I didn't specify what before, because our friend Cullen can't and won't be finding out about this.”   
  
Alain eyed Carver.  
  
“You don't have to worry about me. I'm going to pretend none of this happened when this is over.”  
  
“When Garrett get's here, he'll tell you that he's searching for a way to free her without blood magic. He won't want you to do anything about it. I'm telling you now that you will be saving her. Or you won't be leaving this house. I know you have dealt with this kind of magic before, and I know you can bring her back. Am I wrong?” Reflexive this rallying cry for cooperation precisely as cold and motivating as it need be.   
  
The man swallowed, features locked somewhere between remorse, regret, and guilt. Pausing to admire the carpets and the rough hem of his robe. A scary part of my wants to yank his face up to look me in the eye.  
  
“No. I- I have, I mean I know how it's done. I, we all used this magic before, you have to understand-”  
  
“I do. I only need you to tell me you will do this. Cullen will do nothing. When it's done you will go back to the gallows as if nothing has changed.”  
  
“I can. I will.”  
  
“Thank you Alain. I mean it.”  
  


* * *

  
  
His hand was raised, the slash across his palm weeping blood. Eyes glassed over. The room so quiet you can hear the humming in the back of Alain throat as he mouths his words to the the demon. A nervous habit. Every person in the room seems to be holding their breath. Packed as we are the four of us around mothers sleeping form.   
  
“It's not working.”   
  
Is not what I want to hear. Alain. He whispered it quiet and afraid. Of me or Carver or Cullen in the main room beyond I can't say. Carver glanced at the door as well. On edge since the ritual began. A pensive Garrett seated at the edge of the bed looking just as off put. My hand drifts to the pomel of my blade. Antsy for this to be over or to be able to do somthing.  
  
“Why not?” I ask.  
  
“He- It doesn't want my blood. It says the seal was made with her blood and It will only release her if It's given more.”  
  
“How much does it need?”  
  
“I don't know. Demons aren't always specific.”  
  
“If it's the only way-”  
  
“You can't be serious Marian. We're not endangering her further.” Garrett cuffed.  
  
“What else can we do?” If it takes her blood to wake her then we have to do it- don't we? She might be hurt but hurt is better than asleep forever. “Do you think I want to hurt her?”  
  
“I don't know. But I won't stand for this. She's already ailing as it is, and we can't trust this- thing. What if it's lying?” Garrett far too loudly said.  
  
“Shut up. Or The Captain will come in here. Marian- Sister I can't let her life be but in more danger. I only agreed in the first place because it would help her. What do we do if it doesn't work? If she dies?”   
  
“Anders is here-”  
  
“Anders can't bring someone back from death, or replace lost blood without his equipment. Not even to bring up the fact that there are currently two templars in my house and he is a known apostate.”  
  
“I'm not arresting your boyfriend Garrett.”  
  
“Can you say the same for Cullen?”  
  
“I-”  
  
“Families share blood. It'll take your blood. At least it should. Please please- just stop arguing. I don't want the knight Captain to hear.”  
  
It was like the air rushed back into the room our relief palatable. I reached for my knife- and Carver reacted faster, stabbed his own palm red welling around the gash.   
  
“How much?”  
  
“I won't know until it's done. I'm sorry.”  
  
“Reassuring.”  
  
I flexed my hand, a breath away from my own hidden blade.  
  
As red trailed down my brothers fingers and danced in ribbons towards Alain's outstretched hand I remembered myself.  
  
I am not Leandra's blood.  
  
I am not Leandra's blood.  
  
Closing my fist I walked to the door. Leaning against the surface. Red mist dissipated in the air around the bed casting everything in a sinister light. Carver standing fast. Garrett watching in disgust.   
  
Merrill is always insisting there's no difference between spirits.  
  
I can't say for sure either way.  
  
People on the other hand. It's a fine scale you have to weigh yourself upon; The line between warrior and murderer, defender and criminal. It's all really not so far apart. In the end you will always find yourself wanting.   
  
Here. Now.   
  
I have to believe I am in the right.  
  
That this will save her and that-  
  
That's enough to outweigh everything else.  
  


* * *

  
  
Hours later I'm sitting in the entryway. Ready to leave but not ready to go. Garrett and Carver remained with Mother. The demon gone. Cullen escorted a scared mage back to the circle after we exchanged a few choice words.  
  
I'm busying myself picking out details in the fabric of Fenris trousers. Far to patient with me this man. I'm waiting for something. Someone to shout. Something to break. Something.   
  
I feel like I've been on the edge of collapse for days but I am only now feeling the strain. The exhaustion.  
  
Only once did I ever have to use blood magic before today. Again Alain. Last time it was Fenris. Last time no one else needed to give their blood. This time it took Carver and Garrett both to relieve the enchantment. _I nearly gave myself up.  
  
I should have given myself up._  
  
Selfish.   
  
“Marian.” Fenris hand gentle on my shoulder. Jolting. Fenris pointed to the archway leading into the house. Garrett stood there, next to Anders. His lips pressed in a firm line. He had been speaking to me for some time I think.   
  
“What was that again?”  
  
“She want's to see you. Even though I told her she should rest she want's to see you.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Okay.  
  
The main room felt like it went on forever as I followed Garrett up the stairs. He leaning hevily On Anders, and me leaning heavily on my last strand of false confidence.  
  
All too soon her open door is before me. I am prepared for shouting and being told to get out. I can handle it. I can do this. I can.   
“Carver, Garrett. I would like a moment alone with the girl.”   
  
“Mother I think it would be best if one of us stayed, you just got better and-”  
  
“That won't be necessary, thank you.”  
  
Carver left. Garrett lingered a moment. The carpets are as plush and purple as I remember. The candles burning low. The bedding has been changed and there my mother sits. Silver hair cascading over her shoulders and the pillows that prop her up. Her clothes changed as well since I was last in the room. When the demon was fled and Alain told us she would wake in her own time.   
  
“I'm told I have you to thank for my recovery girl.”   
  
I blinked. Stiff and still in the doorway.  
  
“So why did you save me? I can hardly imagine I made the choice easy for you.”  
  
A pain in my chest took me a step closer. Her voice was far from warm. But she wasn't shouting. But the implications in her words were cutting.  
  
How could I ever think her not worth saving.  
  
“How- How could I not save you?”  
  
“Easily. You could have let _that man_ kill me. You could have let me slumber away till I passed on. Your life would be much simpler if i were out of the picture would it not-”  
  
“Please stop. M- Messere Leandra. Don't-”  
  
“Messere? True. I was raised a noble families daughter. Above everyone and everything. That comes with certain expectations. How people behave towards you. How I should act. What certain things should mean to me. I had the Amell name to uphold.   
  
“And, you know, Malcolm, well he was something else entirely wasn't he? Wild and Mysterious. No rules to hold him down or expectations to live by. He was free, and lived for that freedom. Expectations and chains be damned. I thought I knew him better than anyone. Better than myself. I trusted him with everything. And he didn't trust me with you! I wonder did he think I would reject him? Condemn him? My Malcome... ah-  
  
“That wasn't what I wanted to say at all. Messere Marian, Thank you. You had no reason to save me and every reason not to. So thank you.”   
  
My eyes are hot.  
  
“I had to save you. I had to stop Quentin. I couldn't let you- I couldn't let this happen again. I lost my mother to him. I could not let it happen again. Not to you. Not to Hawke.”  
  
Not to myself.  
  
“I see.” she hummed. “For Garrett then? Hes an awful lot like his father, though I don't think he knew the man as well as he thinks. None of us did apparently- well- How well did you know him, your father?”  
  
“He was only in my life for a few years. But in my mind he was impervious to fault.”  
  
“You really do have his look. More than even Garrett, come here for a moment.”   
  
I approached, with an ounce of trepidation, her bedside. Feeling all in all to tall and out of place hover over her.  
  
“See, there he is. A mystery with golden eyes come to charm me. Now-” She took my hand in hers gently but firmly. “You'll have to excuse my short temper, and I may not always be kind, I take more after my mother than I ever thought I did, but a brush with death tends to put things in perspective for a person doesn't it? This,” She gestured to herself and to me with her free had, “has put a strain on my relationship with my children it's time this ended between us. I know it's no fault of yours who fathered you or what truths he kept buried. Now when I've recovered, because I don't plan on wasting away in this bed. I think we should all spend some time together. Right? Yes. Now I'll let you get back to it. Send me your brothers. I'd like to see them getting along.”  
  
Her fingers released mine. I felt warmth trailing my cheeks. My vision blurring. Somewhere I lost myself, my arms around the woman in front of me, a knee on the mattress. Her hands patted my shoulders somewhat reassuring. Her voice quietly hushing me. A soothing forgotten thing.  
  
My mother died. Yet here she is. I let my mother die, and I let her get hurt again.  
  
“I'm sorry.” Muffled in her hair.   
  
“It's alright. You're alright.”  
  
“I'm so sorry.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Red silk, shimmering like oil on water, falling in a curtain to my feet reflected back at me in the full length mirror. Staring at myself in a dress my mother commissioned for me. It brings back all the footwork she taught us as children. These almost forgotten dancing lessons and Ferelden songs hummed out of tune by Beth or myself. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember the steps, all mothers insistent corrections, her beaming smile when you got it just right. Those little things she brought with her from her home into ours. Hightown Class. Even wandering _farmers_ can have it.   
  
Dancing with my siblings in our kitchen is a far cry from all this. The clothes, and music, the grandiose scale of the manse, the the sheer number of people that fit in the ballroom alone. All of them waiting down there for me. The house filled with noise like it never has been before. Maker I never wandered into the depths of this place. We never had a party to open the house, to use the ballroom and the dining hall. I all too often butted heads with my mother over everything to do with acting the proper high town lady. I would never be a hostess. Now though. Now I am a guest of honour. This dress is a gift.  
  
My mother is alive.  
  
She doesn't hate me. Whether she likes me or not is another question.  
  
The dress is beautiful. Too good for me, it almost makes me wish I let my hair grow back out as I pick at the short strands.   
  
Breathe and I'm ready. My hair is too short to do anything with anyway. On my way out of my guest room and though the familiar-unfamiliarity of these unused hallways to the ballroom stairs. My most charming smile in place. Laughter and chatter greeting me from the ever moving and bright ballroom below. At it's centre like a beacon my mother stands tall and graceful in a gown of silver blue.  
  
It will be a long night and this isn't my idea of a good time. But-  
  
I could host a thousand overbearing parties if it meant the world stayed like this forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay literally this whole thing was done save the blood magic part since I posted the last chapter but it was just so sticky and slodgy to get through. I even added a new scene to the overall script because I was inspired to write more for stumbling Drunk & have a nicer transition between this & the next chap & have more Leandra involvement (that I added part of at the end there) because I have been writing it was just that one fricken part in the middle. But now it is here on this the second day of 2K17. Happy new year!! Hope everyone had a good holiday season (or continues to have as the case may be)
> 
> Should note: at the point in the argument where Carver calls Anders Garrett's boyfriend. Carver is being a little petty & is not really informed so hes making assumptions & the conversation is too heated for Garrett to be embarrassed (because he likes Anders but he is in denial) or correct him. Just want to establish that Garrett & Anders are not a couple quite yet & I am not following the IG romance for them either.
> 
> The next chapter is done too save typing up the last hand written part. Which is actually most of the chapter type-copying is still a bitch and I just can't bring myself to dictate it out loud where people could hear it. I should say it is a major chapter... !


	24. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and a series of dances to the tune of revelations both consequential and benign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some mild NSFW content, as well as vaguely implied past abuse (very very vague).

 

With sweat on her brow and hairs out of place she rests, her back against the rail, palms on her freshly sheathed blades. Staring up into the decaying ceiling. Lighted by a facet of moonlight; glinting eyes and dark lips. A moment frozen between the laboured rise and fall of her chest, puffing air that sends dust motes scattering. Her earth and gold eyes skirt his way and hes caught staring. She smiles; A crooked thing showing teeth. There's something in that smile, in those eyes.  
  
Something dangerous.  
  
Maybe he should be afraid.  
  
Yet all he feels is warmth. A want deeper than any hes felt before.  
  
Maybe that does scare him.  
  
So when he kisses her, their bodies pressed too close, hands trailing over her hips and down her spine, it's only that. Falling back into their pattern. Skirting the edge of the unknown. Unprepared to strike.  
  
Only a kiss. Like the last time and the time before. The cusp of beginning, the cusp of ending.  
  
This thing between them.  
  
Undeniable and dangerous.  
  
Fragile.  
  
“It's your call. I can wait.” Whispered. Once.  
  
Leaving him wondering why? Why when she's the one who's lost everything before they even met.  
  
Yet he wants more. He should not, cannot want more, but there's a little voice in his head say's 'not yet.' He reminds it, 'not ever.' Not when he's a hunted man. Not when-  
  
But he does. He wants her- and more, this life in this damnable city, the people he tentatively call friends even though he can't stand a third of them, and it's all too much. He's wanting too much. He's not supposed to want.  
  
Hes not supposed to feel that way anymore either. He hates that.  
  
It's been a week since they saved Leandra Hawke. Marian is still here. With him- as often as she was when they were working together.  
  
_What is this?_  
  
When the kiss ends. When she leaves that night, with her bright smiles and burning eyes, he feels twice as empty for it.  
  
Hes so tired of being afraid.  
  


* * *

She dances with many people all full of praise and congratulations. Her voluminous skirts trailing. A whorl of crimson, black, and burgundy. Eye's across the ballroom follow her. Too many eyes and too many people.  
  
“Mother certainly warmed up to her.” The younger Hawke brother says. From where they lean over the banister nursing glasses of good wine. Far and away from the ballroom floor and the more flashily dressed. Not that they are not equally bedecked.  
  
“She's trying to save face. Half of hightown was at that party Marian crashed, half of them knew what Mother thought of her, yet she was the one to save her.”  
  
“She want's to make it up to our sister. Garrett. We're not all as bad as you think we are.”  
  
“I didn't mean it like that. You weren't here before, Carver, not when it was bad. This just seems-” Garrett sighs, and runs a gloved hand though his slicked back hair, “Too good to be true.”  
  
She is the guest of honour.  
  
Fenris is as well, but he would rather he wasn't. So instead he leans against the banister overlooking the ballroom, high up and out of sight. Lingering on the edge of everything.  
  
There she is below, the centre of it all. All charm and unexpected grace.  
  
“We're lucky Marian came to Kirkwall to kill that mage in the first place.” Carver says.  
  
Garrett turns to look at his brother. Like he just smashed the glass of wine in his hand.  
  
“Is that why she came to Kirkwall?”  
  
“It's kind of obvious isn't it? That that's why she's here?”  
  
Fenris had forgotten- Or never really thought about it. Why was Marian here? Yes she found family here in Kirkwall. But they were not entirely welcoming and she stayed. Quiet about her past and her plans. Weeks with her nose pressed in old tombs and time spent with the dalish-  
  
“I guess I just- thought she stayed because we were here. She's not really forthcoming with information about her past.”  
  
“I mean with all that stuff about her Mother, and Isabela mentioned something about losing her friends and family during the blight, right? If I had no one left and knew that the man who killed one of them was still out there-” The mans fist clenches on the rail.  
  
Vengeance.  
  
She was just here in his mind. Like a whirlwind. Abrasive at first, then all too enrapturing.  
  
He knew it was vengeance. Before when they were working to trap Quentin.  
  
He knew that.  
  
Perhaps that is exactly what she is. Too good to be true.  
  
What would he have done, had Danarius been in this city like he thought three years ago, and he had succeeded in killing him?  
  
Would he have stayed?  
  
Would she stay?  
  
Down below she twirls Isabella to the fast melody of the music. Their laughter reaching the rafters. Where did she learn that? Such practised ballroom step.  
  
Garrett is staring at him attentively. Fenris takes a drink.  
  
“Can't dance?”  
  
“I dance well enough.”  
  
“Then why aren't you?” Garrett gestures down to the dancers in the ballroom. More specifically to the centre of the floor. Where his sister now walks Merrill, bright in a yellow wool dress, though the steps of a waltz.  
  
Damn him. Damn this. Damn her.  
  
He leaves the balcony and his wine behind. Ignoring Garrett's victorious smirk as he descends the stairs. crossing the dance floor with the ending peals of the previous song ringing it's final notes. Marian smiles when she sees him over the other woman's shoulder. Isabela Laughs from where she spins with a very distressed looking Sebastian Vale.  
  
“Might I intrude?”  
  


* * *

The telltale signs of fatigue show in her movements. Gracing him with an uncommon willingness to let him carry some of her weight.  
  
“Do you think your well-wishers would mind if I borrowed you?” He whispers.  
  
She shivers slightly in his arms before she lets out a grateful sounding sigh. “I'm sure they won't miss my absence for a few moments.” regal and clear. Casting a glance to Isabela, who winks in return as the other woman makes a show of dipping the Starkhaven prince.  
  
With an arm around Marian's waist, fingers brushing the plied fabric curtaining her hips, he steers them off the dance-floor. Then out of the ballroom altogether.  
  
“Thank you,” she says, laughter in her voice. Her heals click along the tiled floor, they make her just slightly taller than him. Enough that she would have to bend to be face level.  
  
“I never understand those.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Those shoes.”  
  
“Hm. They aren't the most practical. Or comfortable.”  
  
“Walk barefoot?”  
  
She hums at that, stalling their movement. She has to kneel and hitch up her skirts to unlace the shoes. It shouldn't be quite as alluring as it is.  
  
“Better?” he asks when the offending pair of footwear lay haphazardly together in front of her. She stares up at him through her dark eyelashes, the low light in this hallway turning her eye's dark.  
  
“I imagine I would be better with no clothes at all.” She says it in jest. But-  
  
But-  
  
He offers her a hand, lifting her when she takes it. Skirts tumbling back into place. He tightens his grasp when she moves to pull away. Now on his level. Eye to eye.  
  
In the shallow light of an abandoned corridor he pulls her to him. She lets him, meeting him halfway. A shaky breath shared between them before he meets her lips. Warm and pliant.  
  
He is not afraid.  
  


  
  


* * *

They leave together, walking to the Hanged Man. It's a long walk. Made longer by stumbling steps and breathless laughter. Barefoot- both of them. They kiss: In a dark alleyway, in the alcove of someones door-step, on the lift that takes them to Lowtown.  
  
This is not something they have discussed.  
  
But she's warm and it's almost freeing. This.  
  
There's and ache in his chest, and he wants to be here. Wants to be with her.  
  
He wants this and they are stumbling through the door of the hanged man, and She's leading him by the hand past the bar patrons and up the stairs.  
  
Past her door, closed behind them, her smile falters.  
  
“Your sure about this?” She asks gently, brushing the hair away from Fenris face. It is a gesture so unlike any of the others. There is no heat there. Or in her eye's in this moment.  
  
He intakes a breath. Presses forward. Running his fingertips along her jawline. Pressing a kiss to the pulse-point at her throat.  
  
“Fenris?”  
  
“Yes. Are you?”  
  
  
“Help me get out if this dress.”  


* * *

  
Half lidded eyes, candles and firelight playing havoc on her dark and naked skin.

  
The Lyrium under his skin burns where the pressure is too much. It's lost with everything else. The rising pressure low in his abdomen, heat. Marian gasping. Slick and hot around him. The smell of her, Them. Sweat and sex and musk and soil. Metal-elfroot-embrium.  
  
The cent of citrus on his fingers.

It's startlingly brilliant bright. Standing barefoot in a grove of lemon trees. The sun at it's Zenith bearing down. Sweltering humid heat. His back pressed up against the rough bark. Someone's hand on his hip. Their lips tongue hands on-

Marian moans, his tongue brushing across her raised nipple.

The memories flicker. Falter. Stop. He is lost in a sea of sensation.  
  
Marian is grounding. The rise and fall of her hips enrapturing. Her breaths drawn-out shaky-faltering things.  
  
When he slips out of her the heat in his gut unfurling settling a pleasant and sated warmth in his limbs, even with the rawness of the Lyrium. Reeling his face still pressed into Marian's shoulder. Felling the rise and fall of her breaths fast and shallow. She's still gasping.  
  
All at once like a bombardment- Like Tides crashing to shore. Overlapping, overwhelming. Falling next to new memories and old ones after the lyrium before Hawke.  
  
A memory of Garrett throwing lightning at a dragon. Fire blazing spilling over the ancient stone. the Beast toppling over smashing an ancient Dwarven column. Searing Burns over half his flesh. The cool Rush of healing Magic shaking in his lyrium novice but welcome.  
  
Hands that were violent uncaring. Words he did not know not to believe.  
  
He remembers a girl with red hair and sparks on her fingers. A half rotted orange he stole from a basket in the orchard split between them. A secret, a guilty want for those things you aren't supposed to have. It feels wrong to think of her here intimate she's-  
  
A woman with bronze skin green eyes and dark curling hair. Tucking a lock behind one elegant pointed ear. The hand that holds his (too small) hand worn with calluses. But her miles are pretty. Even with dirt on her cheeks.  
  
The Lyrium sears at the sensation. Like he’s wrapped in hot iron. It's like something clicks.  
  
A Man- Father he knows. Screaming for vengeance, for freedom at any cost. A riot. Mother clutching he and his sister close, hiding in the broom closet. She comes back hours later with lashes across her back and red puffy eyes, a plate of table scraps in her arms.  
  
The sand is blood soaked. A training grounds. An arena. Men- Masters, Magisters watch from on high. Fenris pants, blood soaked and wrecked in the epicentre of death. Victorious.  
  
Danrious- Young, smiling proudly stands.  
  
“What is your wish?” He says with flourish. For the crowds. For the show.  
  
“Freedom for my family. My mother and my sister are no longer slaves.”  
  
“So it shall be.” In his eyes, that look, that look that Fenris knows now.  
  
This will have a price. His insolence will have a price.  
  
For a moment his name is Leto. It's like wildfire burning through his skin. Then-  
  
And then it's gone. The Vaguest ideas of faces hands touches. Warm and harsh alike- fading as the lyrium on his skin cools. A crushing loss falling over him all at once. Mingling with another feeling strong- clicking into place. It's alien. A weak vulnerable thing.  
  
It's all too much.  
  
As he rolls off her and falls heavy to the pillows beside her. Marian is still breathing off, and arm over her eye's. Silent.  
  
He want's to go. Everything in him is telling him to run. That's what he does. All he does is run and this has all just been a long extended stop on his journey nowhere. He will never escape-  
  
If Danrious knows about her- He will-  
  
If he waits till she is asleap. He can go because this is- She-  
  
There is an aching in his throat.  
  
This is something he shouldn't have. Everything about this is selfish. Weakness. But he settles his weight between her knees. She is darkness and flickering flames and it's enough to steel his breath from his lungs, to set a fire low in his gut. She's enough to forget everything else. To be selfish. He wants.  
  
He should be allowed to want things. To have them. To have this. To have her.  
  
To fall in-  
  
He shoves that through away. Focuses on the physicality. These waters are too deep, he can't let himself drown.  
  
She has not taken her arm from her eyes as several minutes creep by in silence. Her breath hitches and it's distracting enough to pull him from the turmoil that his thoughts have become. At war between this moment and the past, slipping though his fingers, gone and gone and gone.  
  
“Marian-”  
  
It's like something breaks then. Her arm flies away from her face, clenched fist slamming into the pillows to the right of her head. She sucks in a breath, rolling over to fast for him to see her face, her legs swung over the edge of the bed facing her open wardrobe.    
  
  
“I don't-” her voice is raspy and congested. Still turned to that cluttered wardrobe with clothes spilling out the open doors. The mirror on the inner door reveals her face, eyes red rimmed and sheening. Her naked back is slouched. Hands over her mouth. “I shouldn't have- I just- why can't I-” Her hands go to her eyes and she rubs the fiercely. Muttering a curse he doesn't catch.  
  
She stands. Bends shuffling around on the floor. Curses again.  
  
“Marian?”  
  
“Fenris this was a bad idea. I shouldn't have- I should have told you- I can't- I’m-”  
  
“Is something wrong?”  
  
Her tone is so- Broken?  
  
“Nothing! Maker I'm so tired of this void blighted crying. I have no damn reason to cry!”  
  
“Marian did I do something wrong?”  
  
Nothing makes sense. His thought are spinning, around and around and she's not making sense not drifting off to sleep so he can escape this not- this- he-  
  
Mistake.

  
No. Not. That. Never that.  
  
“No! I'm-” There's something wrong in her tone. Old. Nothing of laughter or quick to tears, the storm like woman he knows she is. This is winter. Ice he's never seen. “You didn't do anything, I did. We shouldn't have done this. I'm- I took advantage of you. I'm sorry.”  
  
Fenris exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Rising to a sitting position fists clenched in the red sheets. Anger rising over the panic. Flight to fight.  
  
“Surely that is something I can decide for myself.”  
  
“Fenris I- No.”  
  
“Do you really think me so fragile. I am not made of glass!”  
  
She shudders. A half smile flickering on her face, as she looks at him finally. Her eyes are cold.  
  
“So you can tell me that you're not, right this moment, desperately wanting to leave?” her voice is steady, something bitter in the back of it. It feels like ice creeping over him. A chill that has nothing to do with their nakedness. Right on the mark. How could she possibly-  


“I do not- I would not- How could you possibly know- understand- this was-”

  


“Yes or no, Fenris.” Softer. Gentler. Too gentle.  
  
  
He curses in tevene.  
  
She closes her eyes. “Don't. Don't say anything. I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I should not have gone through with this. Maker I should have told you I-”  
  
The candles have burned down to stubs, weakly smouldering in a pool of wax. Marian can't possibly see what she's clamouring around on the floor for, cursing and muttering.  
  
He shifts his feet to the cool wood floor, a single patch bereft of rugs. He should feel relived. She's saying what he was thinking, but it feels terrible, hearing her say it. Something clenched around his insides.  
  
She pulls her bag up from the floor. Stuffing a lump of cloth and mail into it before rushing to the open wardrobe with a frustrated sigh. She pulls out a long overlarge shirt- A dress, one hes never seen her wear, would never guess she owned. The fabric falls just passed her knees. Simple and stained. It fleetingly recognizable the sort of dress one would wear in fields. The vaguest traces of a just gone memory humming at the edges of his thoughts, he chases it- and it's gone.  
  
“Marian what are you doing?”  
  
“I-” She chokes again but it sounds more like laughter, muffled. “I should have told you. I- I need to go.”  
  
She opens the door. Light steaming in from the burning sconces in the hall. Then the door closes- Slams with enough force to gutter out the few remaining candles. Fenris is alone in her apartments, the smell of them both still still heavy in the air. A haunted hallow feeling in his chest.  
  
He can't place what exactly is the worse feeling.  
  
Like sinking doused in ice water. The lyrium itches. Tingles.  
  
Run after her.  
  
He stands, but doesn't move.  
  
He was going to run. Let her fall asleep and run. Because this was. Everything. Too much. She is everything. He remembered and it slipped away like nothing next to her.  
  
This was a mistake. Obviously a mistake.  
  
So why does it feel like this then?  
  
If she only said exactly what he thought.  
  
He could have stayed.  
  
Maybe she would have understood. The loss of it all. The fear. Everything. This feeling.  
  
But she left and he loves her-

  
  
He loves her and she left him in the dark.

  
  
  
He loves her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

* * *

She was gone. Funny that. He could almost laugh, if his throat wasn't ice, constricted. There was no time for any of this though. Screaming or crying or clutching at the air where there was once a person. A whole person moments before. No time at all. Someone had stolen away his voice with her-  
  
Hawke was gone.  
  
Not dead.  
  
Just-  
  
Gone.  
  
With the Templar's circling. Meredith dead.  
  
Hawke is gone.  
  
A hand is on his shoulder. A question in the air. Fenris is not there to hear it.  
  
Hawke is gone.  
  
What is he if Hawke is gone?  
  


* * *

It was a quiet sort of misery he found himself in when Leandra Hawke died three years ago. His world had been subdued. Unsure. Unfocused. Rooms were too empty. Faces too cold. It was a reactionary misery. One not his own.  
  
A missing face- smile- rebuke- a restless void standing agape in her absence. That was only a few weeks. A few weeks where Hawke Grieved.  
  
He thought her callous once. Her features iron. Steel. Unflinching in the face of loss- Kneeling with a blade bloodied and her sisters body in her arms.  
  
He never saw her weep.  
  
With the pages open before him now. He knows why. He understands more than the words. More than anything. What were a few weeks without her compared to-  
  
Gone.  
  
  
He had gone to her back then. After days without her company. At Aveline's well intended prodding.  
  
“ _What can I do for her?”_  
  
“ _Sometimes we just need to be there.”  
  
“Why me?”  
  
“Fenris. You. Know. Why.”  
  
_ He had not known why. Or at the time he believed he did not. All things are obvious in hindsight.  
  
  
The house was too vacant, silent. Death lingered there. He left. So unsure. The vacant unspoken thing still stood between them. That was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to Hawke alone in that house.  
  
How do people mourn? He had never- He did not remember-  
  
Again he had gone. The house still too quiet, the rooms all too empty. Her curtains were drawn. Like the sun was some unwelcome trespasser on her grief. She was not crying. Not smiling, not laughing. No verbal retorts or anything _Hawke_ to be had there. Her jokes rang hollow.  
  
  
Only a few seconds in her company and he'd said something terrible. Resentful in the moment. Immediately regrettable. His teeth did not catch it.  
  
“ _At least you remember your mother.”_  
  
She gave him a look. Just a look. Not pity, not anger. Acceptance is close. She had no emotions to give him then.  
  
For once Hawke had nothing to give. She struggled on her next words. After a silence.  
  
_“Stay. The house is too empty, and I can't- I- Please stay.”_  
  
So long as he'd known her, Hawke had never cried. Not till that moment.  
  
She was Iron. She was steel. Unyielding but for the curve of a smile or the crackle of her laughter. This was anguish long withheld, mourning put-off- shoved back. This is unforgivable. Unforgettable.  
  
Comfort is not his strong suit. It did not feel right to hold her- after everything- A theft of something not his own.  
  
He held her anyway.  
  
If he had realized then how much he loved- loves her- He would not have ever left again.  
  
He had stayed. She wept. Slept. He stayed till the sun cracked through the curtains and she woke. The silence between them fraught with questions he did not voice. She did not ask for anything more.  
  
It would have been too much. Then. More than he could have done.  
  
  
  
Fenris hates that. He hates that it wasn't more. That he didn't let it be more.  
  
More of her. Every bit worth remembering. Holding onto. Her laughter, her smile, the genteelness of her hands, her voice at night, the rough, intense, passionate moments... and even her tears. It's hard not to dwell- On everything. Impossible on nights when sleep won't come and words are better than memories. You can trust what is written more than you can trust the mind not to forget. They should have had her painted. If he recalls correctly there were offers made. After the Arishok. After she became champion. To have her portrait hung in the halls of the keep.  
  
Were those paintings ever done? He'll have to write Varric once they make landfall.  
  
A hundred- even a thousand portraits would not have been enough to capture all of her.  
  
They should have done more when they had time. He should have held onto her tighter.  
  
“Time.” He says allowed in the quiet cabin. Reflecting on Merrill's words from months ago. _“Well. It's something to do with time. The spirit wasn't very forthcoming.”_  
  
The sun is rising. The book in his lap is well worn, the words a familiar lose script. She had joked once about being an awful example to learn from-  
  
Hawke...  
  
  
The ship rocks on the waves. Fenris sighs. Closing the journal. They have to be nearing port now.  
  
He has no intention of mourning. Not yet. Not until he has scoured the world, picked it clean, till naught but bones remain. Even then he will hunt on.  
  
He knows hope and despair are sisters here, at delicate balance on an edged blade. Either will drown him if he falls. Effort will keep him balanced. He will not fall. He will not sink.  
  
He can hear Isabela above deck. Calling orders to her crew. Rising before daybreak. Or perhaps she too does not sleep. Isabela at sea is not the one they knew in Kirkwall. These days she is more often sober than not.  
  
The other occupant of his cabin has found it in him to sleep. How the mage does it he does not know. Perhaps it comes with being half a creature made for the realm of dreams.  
  
He leaves Anders to his slumber. Stowing Hawkes journal away in his rucksack. Wrapped in oilcloth, just in case.  
  
It's time to meet another day. The rock of the boat familiar beneath his feet after months at sea. Isabella waves him over when he reaches the deck.  
  
“The shoreline's on the horizon. We'll be in port before nightfall maybe sooner. Are you sure you're prepared for this?”  
  
“We are.”  
  
“I mean you Fenris.” Theirs none of the usual crack of humour in her voice. No flirty deflection or blunt disregard for feelings. “The last you were in Tevinter you were on the run from the monster who owned you for ten years- and this plan-”  
  
“This is not like you.”  
  
She frowns. Before hiding her worries behind her ever present front. Bumping is hip with her own in mock flirtation. “Fine. Go wake Anders. I want to talk to him.”  
  
“I am ready. I have to be. This is how we find her.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main portion of this (embarrassing to even edit) chapter was written in March of 2016 (thank you past me for saving me from having to write it now because I honestly would not have been able to), I had the pleasure of piecing together all the disjointed & disconnected paragraphs & sentences into something marginally readable though.
> 
> I did a couple sketches for this chapter for the dance scene but I gave up. [Here.](http://loreen-di.tumblr.com/post/156534937196)
> 
> Lastly the next couple chapters might get a bit confusing because there's overlap in the pov. As of right now the chapters with overlap Fenris(this chap)>Garrett>Marian>Isabela>The2ndMultiPOVItermision if all things land as I currently plan.


	25. Cusp of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke enters the fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to take a crack at editing/revising this chap feel free. [It's on google docs.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1CYqpjPcpOyGHmIYe-HNwVHaiJ-1El3kuvEKAykamgvA/edit?usp=sharing)

A breathless feeling caught hold of me. Like that ache in your lungs that comes after you've been fighting for far too long; The taste of iron on the back of my tongue. That feeling, repressive and overwhelming, comes with the slow sway of the dark and hooded curtain of a thing slowly making it's way forward over the stone floors of the gallows.    
  
A demon of Sloth. It's hissing breaths rattling the air. My grip on my staff tightened. Tension rolling through our entire party like a physical thing-   
  
“Ha-a-awke!” sing-song-ly spoken from somewhere to the left snaps my attention away from the thing in front of me. “My darling. This is new! You coming to visit me!”   
  
The sloth demon before us stops, an even distance between the two stairways that led to the two wings of the gallows.    
  
Isabela issues a low whistle. Looking at the man lounging against the spiked rail at the top of the left stairs. I just-    
  
“Been awhile since I've seen  _ that,  _ that can't actually be Anders, right?” Isabella backed up a few steps leaning back to look up over the railing. Eyebrow arched. Anders gave a wink, running a seductive hand over toned muscles exposed all the way to the hip.   
  
“Gare, who are your friends? Hmm? They're not mages. So that means. Oh! I taste old Elven magic! Two surprises in one day!”    
  
Of all the demons-    
  
_ You know exactly who they are snaps to mind. _   
  
We're supposed to be saving a man from his own dreams.   
  
“No. It's not.” I answer Isabela.   
  
“Obviously it believes someone here could be tempted by- that.” Fenris gestured to Not Anders, looking incredibly unimpressed.   
  
I am not going to get flustered over this. It's not the time. It's not the place. Why is he even here. This is not his domain by any means. He hasn't been in my dreams in weeks. A relief. With Mother, and ballroom parties, and whatever happened between Fenris and Marian.     
  
“How astute! And lovely too,” Xuol’s eyes appraise Fenris, before flickering to Marian “Mmmm that one smells like you-- and like the pretty elf. Oh ho. Hawke you have busy friends. My sort of people. Hmm?”   
  
“So who's he tempting?” Isabela is quick to derail. Side eyeing Marian and the wide gap between her and Fenris. The not so subtle shift of discomfort in both their stances. Clear cut in the rigidity of Fenris spine and the too subdued mein of Marian. There is a delicate downturn to Isabela's lips even with the playful tone in her voice. Maker what did they do to each other— No actually I don’t think I want to know that.   
  
“Before you make voice to that thought elf. You worry for nothing. Your dear leader has evaded my advances for years. Much to like his father- or rather, not like enough.”    
  
It feels like a kick in the gut. What does Xuol even mean by that?   
  
“I have no need for reassurances from a demon.” Fenris interrupts my spiraling. Like a fog off my shoulders. A scowl cutting his handsome features.   
  
“Isn’t that who you're always trying to be Little Hawke? Malcolm? Don’t you know he was so much more— fun, in his youth. So willing to try things.”   
  
My father was good. He never dealt in blood magic. He taught us right from wrong and how to be in control, How to survive nights and nightmares and whispers in or ears.   
  
A man who abandoned a daughter when she was six, who never mentioned her once for nearly two decades.   
  
The words I can say stick like sap between my ribs.   
  
The wavering cloaks of the demon of sloth catching my attention.    
  
“Desire. I was making the mortals an offer. You need to mind your place.”   
  
“I am minding, I’ll only observe. Though I doubt Hawke would fall for the whims of a boring spirit like you when he could have me.”   
  
“It is not the Hawke I  want. Only the dreamer.”    
  
“Can’t win the sheepish little Dreamer over on your own merit? You need Hawkes help?”   
  
“Silence. You have always acted too quickly to mimic human whimsy.”   
  
“I am only what is wanted.” the desire demon smiles with Anders face, my heart speeds up without my permission.    
  
“We don’t make deals with demons,” are a cutting edge through the stifling atmosphere. The first words out of Marains mouth in what feels like hours.   
  
“Then you will all die here.”   
  
The last note before the battle ensues is the laughing sigh of Xuol from his perch on the rail.   
  


* * *

  
  
It’s easy to make Feynriel see what’s happening. Then he’s gone before I can say anything more. The illusion fading and bringing my companion's back into focus and the guise of Feynriel's mother falling away like silk off skin, leaving the feminine demon bare before the our congregation. Keen appraisal in her black eye’s.   
  
“You, you turned him against me.”   
  
“Take away my pets and I’ll take away yours. How loyal are these friends you drag into the fade? Would this lost girl who calls herself  _ your Sister _ stay if given a chance at having her home once more? If I could offer her everything she lost?”    
  
“What?” Is a whip from Marains mouth. She takes a step forwards. Instinctively I put head of my staff between her and the demon, and she falters, her eyes falling on me.   
  
“Hawke... such a wounded heart, how cruel it was for someone to take everything from you and then shove it all in your face in the arms of someone else so even now you can’t have what was once yours. You don’t have to try anymore. Let me help you.”   
  
“Shut up. I don’t need some demons help I know I can’t go back to how it was before.”    
  
Her eye’s don’t leave my face. She doesn’t see when the Demon moves. Footfalls silent on the stone floor. The fade shifts, silk re stitching over the demons form and then—    
  
It’s Fenris. Just Fenris, and it makes no sense why the demon would take the form of someone who’s already here. Standing not ten meters away.   
  
“Hawke?” it’s Fenris voice now. A perfect mimic, but he sounds softer than I ever remember. Marian flinches and her eyes drop to the tile, she steps back away from me and the demon. Her arms are shaking.   
  
“Will you look at me Hawke?”   
  
I am looking at it. All toned muscle and Lyrium beneath dark leather.   
  
“Please don’t do this.” Marian's voice is too quiet, too reserved. Brown eyes locked on the grey green stone of the floor.   
  
“Hawke I only want you to come home. Have you forgotten your promise?”   
  
“Stop. Please.”   
  
Fenris, the real one, shifts behind me.   
  
“Hawke? What is this. How is she so easily fooled. Marian!”   
  
Marian wavers, her eyes catch on the real Fenris,    
  
“Hawke.” inflection bordering on adoration. It’s not addressing me. It’s saying my name and speaking to Marain. Her eyes flicker it’s way, blown wide. She takes a step. Just the one but it’s enough to put her closer to the Demon than to me.   
  
There’s a slight difference, maybe, in the demons looks. The bags under it’s eyes lighter, hair a few inches longer.   
  
“See. I’m the one who can’t live without you. I was the one who was with you when Bethany Died, when you lost your mother. I was the one you finally told about Carver. I’ve been with you through everything. I am yours.”   
  
The sob that escapes Marian is far too real. Far too heartbroken for this moment that makes so little sense.    
  
“Marathari told me you were gone, that I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t-”   
  
“She lied, mages lie. But I can do that for you." They are so close together I can hardly hear the whispered words. "I can take you back to your friends Hawke. To your home where they remember you. Where you are Kirkwall’s champion, where you are called Hawke with reverence, and walk in no one’s shadow. We only need find the boy and remove these pests."   
  
"Marian it’s trying to trick you. Don't do this."   
  
"You can see me again. You can see your home again. We’re waiting for you. You only need say yes."   
  
"I never got to say it. To tell you." she traced her hand along it’s jaw. “I loved you so much.”   
  
“You can have that chance.”   
  
“Really?” She’s weeping now.    
  
The demon’s fingers brush the tears from her cheeks. Fenris growls next to me.    
  
“We have to stop this.”  Fenris says.   
  
Isabela has silently made her way to the back of the room. Unnoticed.     
  
It’s too late. All too late, Marains forehead rests on the chest of the Demon-Fenris, cradled between metal claws. The demon is smiling. A crooked broken thing twisting Fenris face. Then a flash of metal catches my eye, red spills to the stone floor. The Demon shrieks voice wavering between Fenris and a thousand others.   
  
“You could have gone home! I could have given you everything!”   
  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” Is a broken garbled sob from Marain.   
  
The demon shoves her away. More blood spills from Marian's mouth dotting the stone, she wobbles and falls.  I can see where the dagger is stuck hilt still grasped in her hand. Plunged in her abdomen not far from where the blade must have pierced when we first found her that day in hightown.   
  
“Why?” Someone asks.   
  
“I’m sorry Garrett.”  It almost sounds like a confession. I can't take my eyes away from the bloom of red. Petals unfolding darker than her armour.   
  
"Marian!" rips out of my lungs.  
  
Her image flickers. Her breath stutters. She’s gone.   
  
I can't breathe. She's gone. She's gone. Why do she do that? What's happening I don't—  
  
Marian is fine. She’ll be  waking up back in the alienage. She—   
  
What was that?   
  
Was it a fantasy?   
  
What was that about Carver? And Bethany’s death? Marian wasn’t there when she died.   
  
What did that mean?   
  
The demon screams again, others seeping through the walls and up from the stone tile, called to their master. And there’s not time to think hauling my staff forward to bludgeon an oncoming wraith.    


* * *

  
Fenris falls facing the pride demon. And it’s nothing less than intentional. Too distracted to take the creatures deal. Too distracted to fight properly. Leaving Isabela and I to scrape on by the skin of our teeth.   
  
“This is why I don’t do romance Hawke. Too bloody complicated. What a mess.”   
  
I’m not sure which mess she’s talking about. Fade blood spattered across fade clothing or the other two dragons in the room.   
  
One: Fenris and Marian had some kind of fight not days ago. They are both awake and alone in a small building together.   
  
Two: Marain Very nearly submitted to a desire demon that looked like Fenris, but not quite the exact same. A demon who said some things that made no sense. Not really unless Marian has some wild visions of grandeur and secretly wants to be me— but that doesn’t quite fit. Demons lie. Obviously. But why would that tempt her?   
  
Fenris who looked different.   
  
We made our slow way down the green fade tinted halls of the gallows. Isabela right at mys side., plucking at a tear in her dress.   
  
Did Marain know Fenris before she came to kirkwall— but Fenris didn’t know her. What does that mean? Then there’s Carvers name and Bethany’s. Bethany— and it hurts to think about her still.   
  
“Confused little Hawke.” it sounds less like a question and more like a taunt.   
  
“Go away Xuol unless you want to be the next demon I kill today.”   
  
“Hmph. Unappreciative isn’t he Isabela?”   
  
“Do not talk to her.”   
  
“Why not? he’s cute.”   
  
“Please don’t flirt with him Isabela no matter how much he looks like Anders he’s a demon.”   
  
“Sure sugar. You’ll have to catch me another day, Xuol was it? Demons don’t usually have names do they?”   
  
“No. Not usually. Just like Fathers don’t usually hide their children from each other for two decades. Hmm?” Xuol arcs over our heads out the doorway leading to the main entrance.   
  
He’s waiting outside the archway looking less and less like Anders by the second, horns curling back from his brow.   
  
“I don’t recall you having two sisters Hawke. That’s something I’d recall about my favourite mage family. She reminds me of Malcolm though. He was always one for the grand romantic gestures no?”   
  


* * *

  
Leaving the small house in the elven quarter is next to impossible, having to explain to a mother that her son has left for Tevinter… Maker.    
  
But I make it out into the smell of kirkwall and the rustle of the leaves on the great oak tree. Isabela sauntering behind. Our steps in tune as we walked.   
  
“Where do you think they went?”   
  
“Somewhere other than here I’d guess.”   
  
“Isabela!”   
  
“You don’t need to solve everyone's problems, let them have some freedom to work it out themselves.”   
  
“It’s not just that, did you not see how weird that was?”   
  
“Definitely, the fade was weird. Remind me to never let you drag me back there again.”   
  
“The demon turned into Fenris and called her Hawke!”   
  
“So she wants Fenris, has commitment problems, and wants to be you. I imagine she’s not the only one.”   
  
I inhaled sharply.   
  
“It mentioned Carver and Bethany by name.”   
  
“I don’t know Hawke. Family is messy. Relationships are messy. This is why I don’t have them.”   
  
“Please Isabela just help me look for them both. I need to know what happened back there.”   
  
“Fine. But you owe me.” She taped a finger off my chest. We continued up the wide staircase leading into lowtown.   
  
It felt like it was going to be a long night. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy I didn't update last month and this is so short but I really really want to get more than one update out this month cause this fic turns 2 on the 29th. I just got caught up in editing old chapters with the new/old chapter content I retrieved from my old pc (I've yet to update any of them here though) and I'm starting a new fic for Yuri on Ice cause I needed something feel good to balance the creative load but that meant burying myself in figure skating knowledge. 
> 
> I feel like I was going to put more content in here too for Gare's pov but I've decided it's going into the next Marian chap. Which will fill in details missing between this and the last. 
> 
> God just rip my chapter page count I'm editing 13 atm and it's 30 pages? How? did I do that? This is only 6.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't spend a lot of time editing before posting. Probably will eventually. 
> 
> Feel free to hit me up with any glaring mistakes. In the comments or msg me on my writing side blog [@loreen_di on tumblr. I post updates there under the tags #sd update & #stubling drunk fic.](http://loreen-di.tumblr.com).


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